All I Want is You
by fourteen-teacups
Summary: Indulging myself with another Turnadette retelling; University-style AU, set late-1980s. Contains familiar characters from s1-2 but diverges quite a bit from canon. The title is a lyric from You Might Think, by The Cars. Subtitle: Medical-Student Dorks in Love
1. Chapter 1

_Oblivious, Aztec Camera_

"If you don't hurry yourselves along," Trixie called up the stairs, "we're going to miss everything!" She huffed and glanced at her oversized Swatch watch, looking up again as she heard the unmistakable sound of Chummy descending the stairs.

"Don't fret, old thing, we've still three quarters of an hour before things really get going," Chummy smiled encouragingly, while slipping her arms into a slightly out of date navy blue coat.

"Yes, but I was rather looking forward to watching the philosophy students saunter onto the pitch in their fetching cricket whites," she winked.

Voices on the landing caused Trixie to lift her eyes hopefully, only to roll them in annoyance. "I do hope those three have other plans," she whispered wickedly.

Chummy squared her shoulders and put on a brave face. Not all of the nursing students living in the Nonnatus House residence hall were as friendly as Trixie and the other girls in their wing.

The whining tones of Lynsey Powell floated down to the first floor, "I don't know why they can't schedule the medical students' matches on weekends," she lamented. Tugging at her blouse she whispered to the young woman next to her, "Blythe, I certainly hope your were correct when you said my shoulder pad was straight!"

"Mmhmm," her friend answered, flicking her own freshly crimped hair over her shoulder.

Hadley, who completed the trio, complained, "You're quite right, Lynsey, it's simply ghastly how the priority for these things always falls in favor of the less practical disciplines."

The three girls made their way regally down the last few steps and stopped in the entry hall where they eyed Chummy and Trixie without smiling. Lynsey stated cooly, "You lot are going to be late." She looked Chummy up and down with distaste, then sniffed snootily before all three breezed out the front door, presumably heading for the tube station.

"Unbelievable," Trixie muttered, then took Chummy's arm. "We'll be sure to sit far away from them in the stands."

Chummy smiled, grateful for her support. The three haughty girls, known collectively as the _Poshes_, seemed determined to make the lives of the other Nonnatus nursing students miserable. Trixie herself had named the group based on the aura of supremacy they exuded, no matter how unfounded.

Finally Cynthia, Shelagh and Jenny hurried in, searching for their respective jackets and scarves on the hall tree.

"Oh, do get on with it!" In her exasperation, Trixie held the door wide, shooing her friends out and then finally closing it behind her with a thud. She paused for a moment to exhale a sigh of relief before nipping down the porch steps to catch up with the group as they began the short walk to the underground.

"Who's playing today?" Cynthia asked, switching the tote bag she was carrying to her other shoulder.

"Philosophy versus Theology," Trixie answered, rolling her eyes. Sometimes she had to wonder at her friends' priorities. Tossing her perfectly styled hair, she continued with a smirk, "The University of London, East is proud of it's intramural cricket league which is taken rather seriously by many." She, of course, had the match calendar posted above her bed alongside a few photographs she had managed to snap of her favourite players.

"Quite right," Shelagh agreed, then added less confidently, "when does the Medical Student Society next play?"

Trixie shook her head goodnaturedly, "_Tuesday_."

Shelagh, duly chastened, ducked her head to hide a small grin and at the same time straighten her bulky jumper.

"Damn," Jenny exclaimed, "Tuesday I start my shift on the neonatal ward."

Next to her, Cynthia sighed, "That means I'll miss it as well." She and Jenny were in the same student nursing set at St Camillus, the teaching hospital associated with the university.

"Well then I don't want to go, either," Chummy moaned, as a group of neighbourhood children raced by on bicycles.

"Chummy!" Shelagh was affronted. "As a member of The League of Nursing Students, it's your responsibility to help support the Medical Society's team!" The oldest nursing student in the group, Shelagh often morphed into the leadership role of Brown Owl over her Girl Guides. "It's as essential as wearing your League pin!" Pursing her lips, she raised the fingers of one hand to the badge pinned over her heart.

"Nevermind duty," Trixie snorted, "Our doctors will be running about the pitch in their best flannels!" Her quip caused the group to break into giggles as they left the noise of the traffic behind and entered Canary Wharf Station.

Descending the steps into the mustiness of the underground, Chummy acquiesced. "Very well. And I do suppose we owe it to them, they have been positively brilliant cheering us on with our field hockey league," she grinned.

Cynthia spoke quietly as the women passed through the barrier, "Doesn't Peter Noakes usually attend the Medical Society's games to watch his brother, Alfie, play?"

Chummy blushed and immediately changed the subject to the _Simple Minds_ song that was playing in the station, then to her friends new 'do. "I say, Cynthia, your hair looks spiffing this afternoon!"

"Thank you, I just had it done," Cynthia smiled, reaching up to touch the ends of her wavy bob. She was still getting used to the feeling of a shorter length.

Chummy groaned, "So have I, but this permanent didn't quite turn out the way I had hoped." With a frustrated huff she tried unsuccessfully to pull her hat over the frizzy curls.

"It's not so bad," Shelagh offered, raising her voice to be heard over the incoming train.

"Jolly good of you to say so, but even Sister Evangelina mentioned it during today's clinical lesson; said she hasn't seen hair like this since their patients were doing home perms back when Nonnatus was still a midwifery order!" She shook her head sadly.

Cynthia patted her arm, "It will settle down in a few days' time."

"That was rather uncalled for," Shelagh acknowledged. "But for the most part, I enjoy listening to their stories of life before they became a teaching order." The time spent caring for her father as his health declined had put Shelagh a few years behind in her educational path and since his death the nuns had become as close as family for her. "Thank goodness they were able to transition to training nurses after hospital births dramatically altered their vocation."

Jenny began to giggle, "Can you even imagine going into labor and then Sister Evangelina arrives to deliver your baby?"

"I guess home perms were the least of their concerns," Trixie shuddered. Leading the girls through the crowds to board their train, her eyes lit up mischievously, "Now, onto more important things...I wonder which doctors will be watching the match today?"

"Not Nigel," Jenny sighed. "I checked the duty log and he's on call. It's just as well, my fringe is _not _in top form." She tried fluffing them with her fingers, but they remained flat.

Trixie, whose voluminous fringe was always perfectly coiffed, rolled her eyes, "So are you still waiting for him to ring?"

"Yes," Jenny pouted indignantly, as she swayed with the movement of the train. "It's been _nine days _since our second date!"

"You know you could phone him," Trixie countered, "it _is _1988."

Jenny sniffed, "I'd sooner play hard to get," she said lightly. Then added more quietly, "besides I've already tried ringing him twice."

Their combined laughter attracted the attention of several others as they poured out of the train and up the stairs into the fresh air at street level.

Making their way in the direction of the stadium, Jenny lamented, "Every time we've talked at the hospital he _seems _interested; I don't know why he's not phoning!" She crossed her arms in front of her and kicked at a stone.

"Are you sure he's called Nigel _Walker_," Chummy mused, trailing along at the back of the group, "because he sounds more like a wanker." Gasping as she realised what she had said, she stopped in her tracks. The others turned round in response to their own shock to find her with her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

Jenny's laughter opened the floodgates for the rest of them. "Well if that isn't the truth," she snickered, "he shall henceforth be known to the five of us as Nigel Wanker!"

The giggling continued as they reached the entrance to the small sporting venue and joined the short queue. "So no Nigel," Trixie said, "but maybe Leo or Charlie?" Her eyes twinkled as she considered the possibilities.

"Oliver and Alfie usually turn up," Cynthia noted, "and sometimes they bring Patrick Turner with them."

Jenny looked at Cynthia and scoffed, "Oliver and Alfie are much too eager; and they are rather boyish aren't they? Not quite what I'm looking for in a man."

Cynthia glanced away until Chummy caught her eye and smiled kindly. The two friends knew they couldn't afford to be as picky as Jenny and Trixie.

"And then there's Patrick," Jenny was still talking, "I've never seen him look half interested in any of the nurses."

"He's very dedicated to his job," Chummy interjected. "I heard he was originally a teacher before he packed it in to study medicine. That's why he's older than the rest of the junior doctors."

"And therefore, more _interesting_," Trixie winked. They passed through the gate and into the community stadium, then turned toward the stands. "But Jenny's right, he is rather aloof when it comes to women. Although that hasn't stopped some of the nurses from trying, and a few of them a bit too hard." She inclined her head in the direction of Lynsey, Blythe and Hadley who were seated front and center.

As they paused to consider the best seating options, Shelagh wondered why she didn't really know the medical students her friends had spoken of with such familiarity. Well, she knew their names, had worked with them on various wards and individual cases, but nothing more than that. _I suppose I'm a bit aloof myself,_ she thought; realising that most of her free time was spent revising for examinations, taking solitary walks, or visiting with the nuns, sometimes joining them for prayer in the Nonnatus chapel.

She followed Trixie and Jenny who had decided they should sit on the other end of the stands near the top, as far away from the Poshes as possible. Unable to avoid passing the three girls on the way to their intended seats, several rude comments drifted their way.

"Something unfortunate seems to have happened with Jenny's fringe …" Blythe remarked, with a malicious giggle.

Hadley joined in conspiratorially, "... I'm surprised to see _Sister Shelagh_ tear herself away from prayer time with the nuns."

"... late again, you would think Chummy could afford to splurge on a taxi to get her friends here on time," Lynsey tsked and rolled her eyes.

Although the words stung, they tried to rise above them while climbing to the top of the stands. Trading grim looks of irritation, they helped spread out the picnic rugs Cynthia pulled from her tote bag as they settled themselves into the upper row of seats.

"Oh look," Cynthia shaded her eyes with her hand and nudged Chummy, "Alfie and Oliver are here."

All five girls looked down onto the pedestrian walkway that bordered the green pitch in time to see the two junior doctors, plus a third, wave awkwardly to the Poshes, then walk past them without further interaction.

"Patrick Turner is with them," Trixie noted, then winced slightly when she realised the three medical students were heading up the stands toward them.

Jenny elbowed her, "Where are the cooler doctors?" she hissed through clenched teeth, her mouth turned up in a forced smile.

"Behave, you two," Chummy admonished while gesturing enthusiastically to the approaching trio. "What ho, Alfie!" she called.

He tipped his head in her direction, "All right, Chummy!" The three medical men clambered upwards, greeting the nurses as a group upon reaching the top row of seats.

"What's Peter up to tonight?" she asked, inwardly cringing at the painfully obvious question.

Alfie smiled good naturedly. "On the beat," then lowering his voice, "he'll be here Tuesday though."

"Hello, Alfie," Cynthia said shyly. His polite manner in spite of Chummy's blunder hadn't gone unnoticed by the smallest nurse. Tall, but rather ordinary looking, Alfie had a heart of gold she found sweetly appealing.

Alfie and Patrick continued the conversation with Cynthia and Chummy, while Oliver turned to Trixie and Jenny. "We certainly had a tedious shift at the measles clinic last week." They politely indicated their agreement. "But you know," he said, leaning closer, "statistically, nine out of ten injections are in _vein_."

Trixie offered a courtesy chuckle although Jenny couldn't manage one. Meanwhile, Oliver was in hysterics over his own joke, his bowl-cut hairstyle undulating with each belly laugh.

The disruption caught the attention of the others. Seeing the look of misery on Jenny's face, Cynthia attempted to diffuse the situation for her. "Are you a fan of medical puns, Oliver?" she interjected. "Chummy had a good one the other day."

"I did, didn't I? Now let's see if I can remember it..." closing her eyes, she tapped her index finger on the bridge of her glasses. "Oh yes. Here it is: There was a sign on the lawn at a drug rehab center that said: '_Keep off the Grass.'_"

Hers earned laughter from the entire group, but whether it was from the strength of the witticism or her clearly delighted expression, no one was entirely sure.

As the banter flew around her, Shelagh remained lost in thought. She was still distracted by the unfair comments they had most likely not overheard by accident and unsure of what upset her most, the cruel remarks directed at her friends or the irreverent words regarding her relationship with God.

Suddenly, she realised the one called Patrick was speaking to her. Flustered, she looked up into his face. He was tall, even when standing a step below her. The first thing she noticed was the monochrome grey jumper with overlapping geometric shapes, then his unkempt hair, followed immediately by a guilty thought that he ought to be booking in at the barbers rather than spectating at a cricket match. Mentally reproaching herself she then saw he was holding out his hand in introduction.

"How do you do? I'm Patrick Turner."

"Very well, thank you. I'm Shelagh Mannion," she answered somewhat briskly while keeping her arms at her sides. "Forgive me if I don't shake your hand, but it appears to be smudged with...motor oil?"

Startled, he looked down and winced before quickly pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. Wiping the grease away he explained, "I've got an old MG I'm limping along; it requires a lot of convincing to keep it running." He drew his newly clean hand through the shaggy mop of his hair, but didn't offer it to her again.

"I see." They both glanced around awkwardly, neither knowing quite what to say next, while cheers erupted throughout the stadium as the Philosophy and Theology teams strode onto the pitch.

Eventually Patrick spoke, "Right then, enjoy the match."

She nodded and he rejoined his friends, finally finished with chatting up the other girls, and they made their way back down the stands to find seats for themselves elsewhere.

"Shelagh!" Trixie scolded as she turned to face her, "That was a bit unkind!"

"Was it? I'm sorry," she sighed. "I guess I'm still preoccupied with what the Poshes said. But I also didn't want to walk all the way back to the lav to wash grease off my hand!"

Trixie shook her head, "I'm not the one who needs your apology," she noted, gesturing toward the retreating doctors.

"Well it's not as if he has any romantic interest anyway," Jenny came to Shelagh's defence, "as we've recently established."

"Hmmm," Trixie hummed quietly to herself. She suddenly wondered if they might have been mistaken about that.


	2. Chapter 2

_Every Breath You Take, The Police_

The next Wednesday dawned bright, yet chilly. Shelagh pulled her coat tightly around her blue uniform as she and Trixie approached St Camillus Hospital. The building was austere from the outside, looking much as it had done since it was erected in the early 1900s, but the inside had recently undergone a thorough modernisation. The young women hurried through reception, on their way to the principal demonstration room. Their student nursing set was due to view a presentation on physiotherapy. Across the large room, Shelagh caught a glimpse of Patrick Turner conversing with one of the registrars. The junior doctor had crossed her mind several times since their ill fated introduction and she felt embarrassed by her ungracious response when he had obviously been trying to be kind. Trixie was right, she ought to make amends. The two men appeared to be involved in a serious discussion, but what arrested her attention was Dr Turner's hair, of all things. He must have had it cut since the weekend's cricket match and she couldn't help but notice it had done wonders for his appearance.

"Shelagh, this way!" Trixie impatiently pulled her towards the corridor leading to the east wing.

Throughout the presentation, Shelagh found her thoughts drifting back to the doctor. He may have been on the other side of the wide entrance hall, but she had a clear view of him. Clear enough to tell his hair had been cleaned up around the edges and a bit taken off of the top, although much of the flop remained. His tie looked to be slightly out of date, wider than the thin neckwear that was currently in fashion. That last thought made her laugh quietly to herself, as if _she _knew anything about what was in style for men at present! Shaking her head she wondered why she was suddenly so distracted by this person. Yes, from the occasional overlapping of their hospital rotations she knew him to be a caring physician, focused and with a passion for medicine she found relatable, but she didn't understand this unexpected preoccupation...other than she was interested to follow it.

Several hours later, their class over, Shelagh walked back up the corridor alone. Trixie had been asked to stay behind and prepare the room for the next demonstration. She passed the dispensary just as one of the doctors exited from the double doors, someone she recognised.

"Greetings, Dr Turner," she smiled.

He dipped his head. "Nurse," he greeted her politely, then continued on his course toward the opposite end of the wing. There was something chivalrous, almost old fashioned, in his manner that she was drawn to. She saw it in his kindness with his patients and she saw it now.

Turning in the direction he was going she realised they were the only two in the passageway. Feeling a bit bold, she called out, "By the way, is your car running any better?"

Stopping where he was, he pivoted to face her. He raised his eyebrows slightly, resulting in an expression that made him look rather boyish. "It is, thank you. I had a friend assist me with the carburettor yesterday and it seems to be helping." He held up two clean hands as evidence.

Shelagh graced him with a small laugh. "Glad to hear it," she responded coyly, then, in a move worthy of Trixie, spun on her heel to return to reception.

Her stride was endearingly purposeful for someone so petite, the doctor noted as she retreated. In fact he watched her the entire way, until she disappeared from view. The look on his face was one of intrigue. Perhaps he had misjudged their first meeting.

xxxx

Friday night arrived and the nursing students at Nonnatus House were well underway preparing to attend the Association of Accounting Students' fancy dress party. Those who were lucky enough to have the night off bustled in and out of each others' rooms borrowing makeup and asking advice on last minute costume details.

"It's too bad Chummy has a shift at the hospital." Cynthia turned sideways to better look at herself in the mirror and adjusted her Peter Pan hat.

"She'll meet us there," Shelagh reminded her as she slipped on a pair of black ballet flats. "And with the most authentic Suffragette ensemble! I'm quite envious of her skills with the sewing machine."

Jenny came into the room and flopped onto the bed. "Careful or you'll wrinkle your Wendy dress!" Cynthia exclaimed. Jenny pulled a face at her.

"Oh dear," Shelagh whispered to Cynthia, "perhaps Nigel still hasn't phoned?"

"I can hear you," Jenny griped, "and no, he has not."

Shelagh grimaced at Cynthia in the mirror just as Trixie arrived with a flourish in the doorway. Striking a dramatic pose, worthy of her Go Go dancer attire, she offered Jenny some hope, "Perhaps he'll be at the party?"

Jenny answered with a long suffering sigh, "Of course Nigel _Wanker _is stuck at the hospital. But _where_," she said sitting up straighter, "did you get those _boots_?"

"Would you believe me if I said the Nonnatus charity box?" Trixie laughed. "The nuns always get the best cast offs!" In response to her friend's eye roll she chirped, "Now pull yourself together, Jenny, there will be plenty of other datable chaps there tonight."

Trixie waved her arm to usher the girls out of the room and down the corridor, shaking her head in dismay as she heard Jenny murmur, "You're right, make him jealous...maybe that's what I need to do."

xxxx

The party was in full swing as they arrived at the community centre. A DJ had set up in one corner, clearly pleased with his current selection of the Pet Shop Boys' _West End Girls_. Behind the bar, an Accounting student, dressed as a pirate, kept the tap flowing, a line of plastic glasses full of lager on the counter in front of him. Beer was the standard beverage at university events, those who didn't prefer it generally brought their own libations which on a given night could range anywhere from Babycham to Hooch. The Nonnatus group settled into the festivities, mingling amidst their fellow students, transformed for the evening into an eclectic mix of costumed characters.

Trixie quickly scanned the large open space, taking a visual inventory for persons of interest, easy to categorise due to their student society badges. "Leo and Charlie are here!" she squealed, spying the two eligible junior doctors across the room. "Oh!" she gasped, reaching out to grab Jenny's arm, "Charlie is wearing a football kit, we've got to get over there so I can have a look at his legs!" Eyes wide and giggling, the two young women worked their way through the crowd.

Left on their own, Shelagh and Cynthia felt a bit awkward. Shelagh took a tentative sip of her lager and swayed to the rhythm of the pulsing beat of the music, the DJ's lights reflecting off of the lenses of her glasses. A clumsy bloke wearing a Ghostbusters costume approached Cynthia and asked her to dance, but she politely turned him down.

Attempting to appear cool, calm and collected, they moved closer to the entrance where the air was fresher near the open doors. Most of the nursing and medical students didn't smoke but it was disconcerting to be reminded, at events such as this, how many of their peers still did. Cynthia nudged Shelagh's arm and they shared a look of relief as another familiar face entered the hall.

"Chummy!" Cynthia shouted to be heard over the collective noise and waved at the tall Suffragette who bumped into at least three people as she took her eyes off of the crowd to return the greeting. A smaller, and more graceful, Alice in Wonderland accompanied her as they passed through the doorway and into the party.

"My, don't you two look smashing!" Chummy gushed, then continued without pausing for breath, "Goodness, if Blythe and I didn't have a bally time getting here! Obstacles from every direction; we were certain we would miss the whole thing!"

"Of course not," Shelagh smiled. "It's only just getting started."

"I'll say," observed Blythe, raising her eyebrows as a skinny lad representing Punk culture jostled past balancing more drinks than was feasible. "That's not going to end well," she commented dryly.

Cynthia nearly choked on her Babycham. Recovering quickly she asked, "How were things at St Camillus?"

"Rather quiet for a Friday," Chummy replied, "but things were picking up as our shift ended."

"Typical start to the weekend," Blythe stated impassively, remaining to chat with them as she saw Lynsey and Hadley holding court in a group nearby. Alone, she could be somewhat pleasant, away from the influence of the rest of the Poshes.

Cynthia raised up on her toes in an attempt to peer around the room, "I don't suppose we'll see Alfie or Oliver tonight," she mused, the disappointment evident on her face. It wasn't uncommon for students of other disciplines to attend a different group's party, but it was typically only the more confident ones who showed up.

As if to underline that thought, loud laughter erupted from Leo, attracting the attention of a good part of the room. His short, normally spiky hair was hidden under the helmet of a St George costume and he carried a small stuffed dragon to complete the effect. Jenny was enraptured as he used the dragon as a puppet to tell a lengthy, and apparently hilarious, joke to a rapidly growing group of partygoers. Two other girls, dressed as Wrens, seemed to be competing with Jenny for his attention. Eventually the tale ended and the larger group dispersed. Based on the body language of those who remained, it was evident that the conversation had turned to cricket, with Charlie and Leo basking in the glow of their recent success; the Medical Student Society had triumphed in Tuesday's match.

"Cynthia and I require a refill," Shelagh noted, "and you two need to catch up!" The girls giggled in agreement and their group wove their way towards the bar. As they waited for their turn, _Come Dancing_ began to play and a rag doll couple brushed past them as if in a race to the dance floor.

Blythe shook her head in disbelief, "Was that absolutely necessary?" she smirked.

"I say, Shelagh," Chummy said, echoing the exasperated look on her friends' faces before moving the conversation in a more positive direction, "how are the plans for the League of Nursing Students' Charity Ball?"

"Falling into place nicely," Shelagh answered. "For one thing, we won't be having it here!" The news was met with unanimous approval; the community centre was convenient, but lacked a certain elegance and the League prided itself on arranging a sophisticated affair. "I hope you all have dates in mind," she teased. In keeping with the event's tradition, women asked men to the annual Charity Ball.

"Oh, but I do have a few things I still need help with." As she listed the tasks, Chummy agreed to assist with several and Blythe gave her unsolicited opinion on the rest.

Cynthia was listening to Shelagh but became distracted by a conversational group in the near distance. Patrick Turner had made an unexpected appearance and was currently being monopolised by Lynsey and Hadley. The expression on his face revealed his discomfort but she noticed he kept glancing toward their group, and at Shelagh in particular. Waiting for an appropriate moment, Cynthia nudged her friend and gestured subtley in his direction.

Taking Cynthia's cue, Shelagh looked over and was pleasantly surprised to see the doctor. She caught his eye and as he smiled crookedly she felt the heat rise in her face. Returning his grin she watched as he angled his head to indicate an area of empty floor space nearby, then raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question. As she nodded her acceptance, they both left their respective groups to meet in the middle.

"Hello," she said a little breathlessly, "it's nice to see you." The Medical Student Society badge on his lapel was slightly crooked, she wished she was brave enough to reach out and straighten it.

"It's nice to be here," he replied, leaning back on his heels, "I didn't expect to, but my dinner break came up and I realised I needed to get away from the hospital for a bit."

She sighed in agreement, "I know how that can be."

They stood in silence for a moment, he sparing a glance at the adjacent dance floor while she took a sip of her drink. When he turned back, she smiled, eyeing the clinical coat he wore over his dress shirt and trousers. "You have my vote for most creative costume," she teased.

He chuckled, and she noticed the way the tiny lines around his eyes crinkled. Tipping his head toward her he lowered his voice, "As I said, I hadn't really planned to attend." Leaning back again, he took in her costume as if for the first time. "Yours is nice, not too conspicuous," he wrinkled his nose and inclined his head in the direction of some of the more provocative styles of fancy dress.

Blushing, she suddenly felt self-conscious. What had possessed her to dress as a cat? Standing in front of him in black tights and a leotard, the feline nose and whiskers she had pencilled on her face seemed silly, the tail pinned at the back of her waist, juvenile.

"I especially like the ears," he grinned, using his index finger to tap one of the fuzzy triangles attached to her alice band, "if only I'd brought my otoscope..."

She giggled, his playfulness washing away every negative thought she'd just had about her attire.

"Perhaps we should try that introduction again." He held out his hand, "Patrick."

She placed her hand in his, "Shelagh." Looking up, their eyes locked and she felt a rush of intoxication, but whether from the alcohol or the intensity of his gaze, she couldn't say.

He let go of her hand but she couldn't tear her eyes away from his. Deep brown with flecks of green, they seemed to twinkle when he smiled. Without thinking she blurted, "You have rather pretty eyes."

He glanced sideways, in a slightly embarrassed sort of way while she cursed her impulsivity, only to instantly forgive herself when he returned his gaze to hers.

Breaking the silence, he gestured to her empty glass, "Would you like another?"

"No," she shook her head, "two is my limit."

"That's very wise," he nodded as if commending a patient, his fringe falling across his forehead as he did so. Then looking at his watch, he frowned, "I wish I could stay longer, but duty calls."

"I understand."

He held her eyes for a few final moments, then turned to leave. She watched him as he began to fade into the crowd. Just before he disappeared from view he looked back and her breath caught. He offered her a slow smile and a wink and then he was gone.

xxxx

The tube-ride home lulled Shelagh into a sense of relaxation. After the noise and excitement of the party, the car full of tired, Nonnatus nursing students was quiet and she found the gentle rhythm of the train soothing.

Seated next to her, Trixie noted her friend's half closed eyes and the small, secret smile on her face. "You look very happy," she ventured.

Shelagh sighed contentedly, "I had a wonderful time."

"I should think so," Trixie teased, "having a handsome doctor all to yourself!"

Blushing, Shelagh turned to face her. "Trixie, I was just thinking. The League's charity ball is coming up."

"Mmhmm," Trixie raised her eyebrows and grinned.

Self-conscious, Shelagh looked to the reflections in the window glass. "I thought, being one of the organisers, I wouldn't take a date. But now I'm wondering…"

Trixie was on the edge of her seat, trying her best not to squeal, "Yes?"

Glancing down, Shelagh's cheeks reddened even more, "I think I might ask Patrick Turner."

This time Trixie couldn't control her squeal, "I think that's a fabulous idea!"

Shelagh held up her hands as if to shush her, giggling softly herself. Her face glowed with quiet expectation as she leaned back into her seat and whispered, "I think so too."


	3. Chapter 3

_Let's Hear it for the Boy, Deniece Williams_

Tuesday afternoon, the Nonnatus House library was cloaked in silence. Several of the student nurses filled the study tables, making use of the time to begin cramming for their upcoming practical examinations. Adding to their stress was the fact that the hospital's annual review unfortunately coincided with this major milestone in their training.

The girls had spread themselves out among the three long library tables. Spacious and wood paneled, the room had one wall of floor to ceiling shelving devoted to nursing textbooks and midwifery manuals. Adjacent to this, a row of tall windows looked out onto the garden where the nuns still grew many of their own vegetables.

Blythe groaned and announced, "I need a break!" She tossed her pencil onto the table and slammed a textbook shut.

Three heads popped up, distracted from their studies by the outburst.

"What say we pause for some tea?" Chummy suggested. "I think I saw a tin in the kitchen with half a Madeira cake left inside." She whispered this last comment, one of the sisters was known to sniff out any mention of cake.

Rubbing her eyes, Shelagh stretched, "Sounds perfect, I'm not making much progress at this point." She brushed through her layered hair with her fingers, pulling it back into a ponytail and securing it with the scrunchie from her wrist.

Chummy scooted her chair back, bumping the table and knocking papers to the floor as she did so. "Oh bother," she muttered, leaving them where they fell as she went to put the kettle on. Chummy's limp, the result of a collision with a member of their most recent opposing field hockey team, was still evident. Unaware of the mess, Cynthia followed behind her to help with the tea.

"I'd rather be focusing on my dress for the Charity Ball," Blythe grumbled. "I've narrowed it down to two choices. One brings out my eyes, but the other accentuates my figure." She dug through her satchel and pulled out two magazine clippings. "I mean, technically I can't go wrong, they're both flattering."

Shelagh mentally rolled her eyes. She hadn't even begun to think about her dress and, based on past experience, finding even one that complimented her tiny frame was a chore. Leave it to Blythe to have two favorable candidates. Knowing her narcissistic classmate wouldn't drop the topic anytime soon. she pulled herself out of her chair to view the photos.

The first dress was royal blue satin, sleeveless with a conservative neckline and the skirt fell in soft folds to mid-calf length. "This one seems too simple, although I love the color," Blythe professed. "But," she continued, pointing to the other picture, "if I want to make a bolder impression, I'll wear this one."

Her second choice was a gold lamé strapless cocktail dress. It was ruched from the bodice to it's asymmetrical flared hemline, ending in a wide ruffle.

Shelagh's eyes widened, then composing herself she murmured, "The blue, I think." She stopped to pick up Chummy's papers on the way back to her seat.

"It's a big decision," Blythe sighed, tucking the pictures into her notebook, "I'll need more opinions of course."

The other girls returned with two tea trays bearing the promised hot drinks and plates of cake. While they enjoyed the treat, their girl talk turned to possible dates for the upcoming dance.

"I'd like to ask Alfie," Cynthia admitted shyly, using her fork to idly move crumbs around her empty plate, "if only I can muster the courage."

"You sound just like me, old thing." Chummy's tone was reassuring. "But I've promised myself I'll buck up and ask Peter the very next time I see him," she stated determinedly, then winked at her friend. "We'll jolly well have to keep each other accountable!"

Cynthia took a deep breath and nodded.

"If you're successful you can double date," Shelagh, teased, her eyes sparkling. "I would say the Noakes' brothers are the luckiest of men."

"Speaking of dates," Chummy turned to Shelagh with a wide grin, "have you anyone in mind?"

"I hadn't at first," she blushed, "but in recent days, the thought of asking Patrick Turner has become a possibility." She kept her gaze down, picking at a stray thread on her sleeve.

"Patrick Turner?" Blythe said distractedly, her eyes were back on her dress choices. "Lynsey has plans to ask him."

Shelagh's face fell, but she reached down to retrieve something from her bookbag in an attempt to hide it. Her hands closed around the small notebook in which she recorded her to-do lists. She was just setting it on the table in front of her as two of the nuns entered the library.

Sister Monica Joan's retirement from nursing had coincided with the Nonnatus nuns' switch from midwifery to a teaching order. She remained a valuable volunteer, however, both at St Camillus and within the walls of Nonnatus House, frequently challenging the nursing students to lively debates or quizzing them on their studies.

"It would seem as though I have missed the call to cake," Sister Monica Joan noted forlornly.

"Never fear, Sister," Chummy spoke up quickly, "we left a slice in the tin just for you!"

"How very kind of you," the sister beamed her appreciation and sailed off in the direction of the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "I shall return fortified and ready to revise with any nurse who wishes to strengthen her skills."

Sister Julienne, the principal tutor of the Nonnatus nursing students, smiled benevolently at her older sister as she left the room. Then addressing the remaining women she enthused, "I hear plans for the Charity Ball have had a promising start. Nurse Powell tells me she has not only arranged the caterers and the music but also took great pains to convince those at Queen Mary, U of L to let us have The Octagon room at a discount!"

At her words, Shelagh felt a cold flush of shock run through her body, even as she heard Chummy begin to speak, "But Sister Julienne, it was Shelagh who arranged all of that…" Her words were drowned out by the ringing telephone, Shelagh batted away Chummy's attempt to come to her defense while Cynthia ran into the corridor to take the call.

Not realizing any of this, the sister remarked, "I'll not keep you from your studies any longer," then left the library in the direction of her office.

"Shelagh," Chummy whispered.

"It doesn't matter," her friend replied. "It's not about me anyway. The important thing is the money we raise for the hospital." Shelagh consulted her list, jotting down a few additional notes. Then closing her eyes she sighed. Lynsey was a piece of work; taking credit for tasks Shelagh had done and managing to secure priority in asking Patrick to the ball. She was a thorn in her side, but Shelagh refused to stoop to her level. The polite response was to keep quiet and do the right thing and that's what Shelagh intended to do.

Looking back at her list she was thankful for the one bright spot in the midst of their hectic timetable. The ball wasn't scheduled to occur until a full two weeks after their exams and the hospital review were over. That would give her plenty of time to ace her practicums and finish preparations for the League's big event.

Suddenly Cynthia rushed into the room, breaking the silence that had settled. "You'll never guess who was on the phone," she laughed, in a very un-Cynthia-like way.

"Who?" chorused the three nurses.

"It was Nigel!" she giggled.

"Nigel _Wanker_?" Chummy asked for clarification.

"Yes!" Cynthia was gleefully out of breath, " I think he heard Jenny was flirting with Leo at the fancy dress party; figured he'd best stop messing about."

"But Jenny's still at the shops," Blythe pointed out. "Looking for new Ray-Bans."

"She'll be thrilled," Shelagh brightened, "but also so cross that she missed him!"

Chummy chucked wickedly, "I say, this calls for a bit of fun…"

"What do you have in mind?" Shelagh wondered, as a small smile began to emerge.

"We should announce it in some fantastic way," Cynthia proposed, "perhaps a big sign!"

"Yes!" Chummy crowed, "and make sure it's the first thing she sees when she gets back!"

Amidst giggles turning rapidly into chortles, Chummy, Blythe and Cynthia pushed out of the library and up the stairs in search of poster making supplies. Unable to rise to the same level of glee, Shelagh slumped back in her chair at the study table where she was found several moments later by Trixie, returning from a lunch date with Charlie.

Trixie tilted her head, listening in the direction of the commotion upstairs. "What did I miss?"

"Well," Shelagh gave her a pointed look, "Nigel finally rang."

Trixie laughed as she swung a Members' Only jacket over her shoulders. "Charlie's," she explained with an impish grin in response to Shelagh's raised eyebrows.

Pointing to the first floor, Shelagh continued, "the girls decided to have a little fun with Jenny."

"Ooooh, sounds interesting!" Trixie replied eagerly, taking a seat across from Shelagh.

"Yes," Shelagh responded flatly.

"What's wrong?" Trixie inquired, noticing for the first time her friend's downcast expression.

Shelagh sighed as she filled Trixie in on Lynsey's antics regarding the Charity Ball, then added, "and if that isn't enough, I must give her priority seeing as she had plans to ask Dr Turner to the dance first."

"Well if that doesn't put the tin hat on it," Trixie muttered, her mouth set in a way that conveyed her obvious irritation. "Shelagh," she placed her hands flat on the table between them, making a concerted effort to speak calmly and rationally, "there is no priority in something like this. I know what you're thinking, but no one will think any less of you for following your heart."

Shaking her head, Shelagh looked away, but Trixie wasn't finished. More animated this time, she huffed, "For one thing, Lynsey isn't necessarily likable; and furthermore, she tried to interest Patrick in the past and got nowhere!"

Shelagh stilled and Trixie could tell she was making progress. "Clearly he wasn't smitten." She paused, tapping her fingers lightly on the desktop, "and there was none of the chemistry I've seen spark between the two of you."

Snapping her head back to her friend, Shelagh's eyes widened for a brief moment. Still, she wasn't, as yet, convinced. "I just don't know, Trixie," she murmured quietly.

The sound of laughter, and their housemates clattering down the stairs, disrupted them. Looking up they saw a herd of them rush past the library doorway and into the front hall. Trixie squeezed Shelagh's hand in a gesture of support, then with a bemused look, pulled her up and out into the entryway. An enormous sign with large lettering was affixed to the wall directly opposite the sturdy front door.

Shelagh gasped in astonishment, "What if the nuns see this?" she whispered with concern.

"Oh please," Blythe stated abruptly, "they all have a keen sense of humor."

"And hasn't Sister Evangelina revealed her propensity toward matchmaking?" Cynthia giggled, remembering an incident involving Chummy and Peter's first meeting.

The thought of that moment broke the tension as the group of young women, including Chummy, chuckled at the memory before positioning themselves in the corridor beside the entry hall as they waited for Jenny to return home.

Mere minutes later, they heard her key in the lock and, holding their collective breath, watched as Jenny stepped into the small room wearing a denim miniskirt and an oversized t-shirt, her new Wayfarer Ray-Bans perched on her head. She closed the door behind her, then turned. Her face at first registered shock as she viewed the announcement, then softened into a quiet smirk.

NIGEL

_wanker_

RANG

At this point the Nonnatus nurses could no longer contain themselves and descended into the front hall with raucous cheers and delighted hugs for a blushing Jenny. She was a brilliantly good sport about it and stayed celebrating with them, for as long as she could stand to, before rushing off to the telephone to ring him back.

xxxx

The next day, as Trixie walked down the hospital corridor at the start of the morning break, her conversation with Shelagh still niggled at the back of her mind. She was completely against the idea that Shelagh owed _anything _to Lynsey, let alone the thought she should give her priority over a _person!_ Having to see Shelagh's melancholy expression at breakfast this morning was not helping matters.

Turning sharply into the medical students' tea room, she once again wished more imagination had gone into its planning. The windowless room was institutionally cheerless, but those that called it their own had attempted to personalise it by placing cork boards along the back walls. The two medical student organisations, as well as their cricket and field hockey teams, each claimed one as their own, decorating them accordingly and pinning notices or messages for fellow students on the appropriate boards.

Trixie spied Dr Turner in the far corner of the half filled room, effectively tuning out the hum of conversation while perusing what looked to be the latest issue of _The Lancet_. She bought herself a cup of tea along with a packet of biscuits to share and approached his table. "Is this seat taken?" she asked, sitting down before he could answer, but he moved his paper cup of tea and the journal aside to make room for her. Opening the packet, she peered at his reading material, "What's the latest in medical news this morning?"

"_Survival of the Smallest_," he tapped the article in question with his index finger, "This study documents increased survival rates for preterm infants during the last decade."

"That _is _encouraging," she replied. "What are the determinants?"

He slid the publication along the brown surface so she could see it more clearly, "Certainly modern perinatal care has had a positive effect, not only in reduction of stillbirths but survival of preterm infants throughout the postnatal period." He took a sip of his tea and briefly glanced away from the table. "Additionally, more prevalent use of ultrasound has helped identify cases of intrauterine growth retardation. While that knowledge can't reverse the condition, it does sanction a proactive start for that perinatal care." Removing his reading glasses, he rubbed at his eyes before tucking the lenses into the pocket of his clinical coat.

"Fascinating," Trixie remarked, leaning back in her chair and pushing the biscuit packet in his direction. "Would you mind if I made a copy of this? Nonnatus House will be most interested; neonatal care is the League of Nursing Students' main philanthropy."

"Is it?" The doctor seemed rather pensive for a moment, before adding quietly, "I hadn't realised."

"Mmhmm," she bit into a custard cream, then changed the subject, "You know, I wonder if you could help me with something else? I'm collecting opinions."

Puzzled, he helped himself to a biscuit before answering, "I'd be happy to, although I'm not sure how much help I can offer."

Trixie thought for a bit. "What do you think of the idea of someone laying claim to something?"

He paused, then quoted, "'_What claim lays she to thee?'_"

Dropping her forehead into her hands, she laughed, "If I'd wanted Shakespeare, I'd have asked a Literature student!" At his perplexed expression she added, "perhaps one is saving seats or thinks they were the first to come up with an idea...is it fair for one person to take precedence over another?"

Still obviously confused, yet trying to be polite, Dr Turner mulled this over while fiddling with the as yet uneaten biscuit in his hand.

Before he could answer, there was a commotion near the doorway as Lynsey entered the tea room carrying a stack of flyers. Drawing as much attention to herself as possible, she made a show of posting the advertisements for the Charity Ball on various notice boards around the room. At the same time, she teased any young doctors seated nearby with the possible privilege of being asked to the dance by her.

While Trixie fought the urge to vomit, out of the corner of her eye she noted Dr Turner's body language in reaction to Nurse Powell, reading in it not only his disinterest but something close to disgust. Her nausea subsided as she smiled smugly, halfway convinced of what she already suspected.

By some miracle, Lynsey did not approach their table, but was trapped due to her own actions in a conversation with Oliver, who was trying way too hard to win the prize she had been suggesting. Also joining the fun was Nigel, proving to be as big of a flirt as Jenny.

Trixie turned back to Dr Turner who was still trying his best to come up with an answer for her, "Can you explain your question again?"

"Nevermind all that," she said, waving off their previous discussion, "It wasn't important."

His face indicated his relief, "Right then, about the copy of that article," he started to close the journal just as an announcement was broadcast over the hospital speaker system.

It crackled to life, then emitted the obligatory beep, "_Nurse Mannion, please report to Pulmonology_," before falling silent again.

His attempt to hand her _The Lancet_ resulted in a fumble and he almost lost it completely off the side of the table. He recovered it, albeit gracelessly, and thrust it in her general direction. "Here you are, and take your time with it," he muttered while rising from his chair, collecting his empty cup as he did so. "Just tack it to one of the notice boards when you're finished." His words rushed out clumsily as he thanked her for the biscuits and said goodbye.

"You're very welcome!" she called after him, grinning to herself. He was in an awful hurry to get somewhere and she'd bet a tenner it was Pulmonology.

xxxx

Late that evening, Trixie knocked on the door of Shelagh's room, bearing two mugs of Ovaltine. She smiled as her friend welcomed her in, "I thought we both deserved a treat!"

"I'll say," Shelagh agreed, brushing a stray hair away from her face, "the lead up to these exams is exhausting."

"Mmhmm," Trixie hummed, blowing a cool breath across the top of her hot drink. Perched on the only chair in the room she mentioned innocently, "I had a fascinating conversation with Dr Turner this morning."

"Trixie you didn't!" Shelagh sat up from where she had been reclined against her headboard, looking horrified.

"Now, now," Trixie soothed, "I was the soul of discretion!" At Shelagh's expression of disbelief, she offered further proof. "Seriously, I was so vague even I wasn't sure what I was talking about at times. But," she grinned mischievously, "I discovered what I already knew; that man has no interest in Lynsey and yet seems quite infatuated with you!"

"Of course he isn't," Shelagh blushed, setting her mug on her bedside table before paying an unnecessary amount of attention to her right thumbnail. "Wait," she looked up abruptly, "is he?"

Trixie laughed indulgently at her friend's hopeful gaze. "He _is_." She punctuated her assertion with a brisk nod, clearly pleased with herself, then winked cheekily. "What did he say when he found you in Pulmonology?"

"Dr Turner? I never saw him. As soon as I arrived, I was sent to fetch films from Radiology."

"Damn." Both young women's faces reflected their disappointment.

Recovering first, Trixie advised, "Now look, the timing is perfect for you to make a small gesture of encouragement." Her eyes twinkled playfully. At Shelagh's uncertainty, she went on, "At least give Dr Turner credit that he knows his own mind."

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for Shelagh's response. Receiving none, she added gently, "Allow him the opportunity to make his own choice."

As a shy smile spread across Shelagh's face, Trixie pumped her fist in victory and their combined giggles echoed all the way down the corridor.


	4. Chapter 4

_Call Me, Blondie_

On Friday afternoon, Shelagh left Nonnatus House intent on de-stressing with a bit of fresh air and exercise. Carrying her rollerblades, she walked in the direction of Poplar Recreation Ground. A small bum bag held her walkman and an eclectic mixtape: The Bangles, Journey, Sting, Christian artist Amy Grant, various soundtracks from favorite musicals, and some classic Beatles. She wasn't ready to pop on her headphones quite yet, preoccupied instead with deciding upon a suitable 'encouraging gesture' for Patrick Turner.

Reaching the park, she happily left behind the noisy, exhaust-fumed, urban streets for the green, open space of the recreation ground. The hockey pitch in the distance caused her to smile, remembering with pride the League's victory over the History College just a few days ago. Cynthia, with quiet determination, had scored the game winning goal in the final moments of play.

Finding a quiet bench, she sat to lace up her inline skates, the doctor still very much on her mind. There was a Uni mixer coming up on Tuesday, the casual kind which included all disciplines and was held at the East Campus' new Student Central. These events typically didn't have much to offer other than music and a few silly games, still they were usually good fun and many students enjoyed them. Standing from the bench, she donned her headphones and wrist guards, then pushed off onto the tree-lined, paved pathway. Enjoying the feel of the wind in her face and the flexing of her leg muscles, she thought to reach out and inquire whether Patrick would be attending. The longer she pondered it, the more she became convinced that as gestures go, it seemed perfectly appropriate.

xxxx

Shelagh fell ill over the weekend. It was nothing serious, but contagious enough to keep her away from the hospital. Using most of her recovery time catching up on rest, she also spent some of it in the chapel and at the long study tables of the library. With a clean bill of health, she returned to her nursing shift on Monday morning, disappointed in the missed opportunities to speak with Patrick but hopeful that would be remedied today.

As her shift ended that afternoon, she was no closer to their anticipated conversation. Perhaps if she waited in the tea room there would be a chance of seeing him. Standing in the queue for a cup of tea, she watched as Lynsey breezed in and quickly posted a good-sized envelope on the medical students' notice board. The task was performed with a flourish typical of the troublesome young nurse and then she exited the room.

Having purchased her tea, Shelagh slipped nonchalantly by the board on the way to finding a seat. Her stomach dropped when she saw the fancy envelope with Patrick's name on it; was Lynsey asking him to the dance in this very note? Settling into a table she sipped her tea and flipped through a midwifery journal, determined to wait until he arrived. She must talk to him before he opened that letter.

About an hour later, her drink was long since finished and fatigue started to overwhelm her. Freshly recovered from her cold, the first day back had been exhausting and she had already waited longer than she should have. On a side table she found a notepad, one left by a pharmaceutical vendor, and resigned herself to leaving a humble note. Should she ask him to the ball on this unassuming advertisement? It seemed too impersonal, not that she had much experience in this area. Nevertheless she felt led to speak to him in person, even as much as that terrified her, and to see his face as she asked him to be her date. If waiting put her at risk of being too late, of coming in second place, it was a risk she knew she must take. Whispering a small prayer, she left it in God's hands and began to write:

_Dear Patrick, I've been away from the hospital and confined to Nonnatus due to a minor illness over the weekend. Today was my first day back and I'm sorry to have missed you. Do you plan to attend the Uni mixer tomorrow night? I will be going with some of the other nurses. I happened to notice you have another note on the board, have you had a chance to read it? Sincerely, Shelagh_

She folded the small piece of paper and, after penning his name on the outside, carefully pinned it to the cork board, making sure it was a good distance from Lynsey's. Then taking one last optimistic look up and down the corridor, she turned and left for home.

xxxx

Later that evening, the Nonnatuns gathered as usual around the two long dining tables for their evening meal, the aroma of roast chicken and potatoes filling the room. After Sister Julienne blessed their supper, the noise level rose as nurses and nuns passed serving dishes and shared the news of their day with one another. Those who were absent due to hospital shifts or social engagements knew they would find a plate set by in the kitchen larder when they returned.

"Jenny," Cynthia asked, while passing a platter of rolls, "what happened when you phoned Nigel?"

Beaming with pride, Jenny was happy to discuss the positive direction her love life was taking. "He's been forgiven," she smirked, "and he's coming round to pick me up for the mixer tomorrow."

"Picking _you _up; well, that's a nice change," Hadley muttered snidely from the far table.

Seeing Jenny's face fall, Shelagh attempted to smooth things over. "That's very sweet of him," she said, encouragingly. "Have you thought about asking him to the dance?"

"I'm hoping to," Jenny replied brightly, accepting a bowl of sprouts from Sister Evangelina.

Lynsey, happiest when she was putting a damper on things, interjected, "I'd get on that before it's too late, loads of people already have dates."

More than one young nurse appeared slightly panicked by this news.

"Give me strength," Sister Evangelina shook her head and sighed, "and let me enjoy my meal."

"Oh yes," Hadley said, adding fuel to Lynsey's fire, "you know Trixie has already asked Charlie."

The look on Jenny's face was one of sheer determination, she hated to be outdone by Trixie.

"Tomorrow's mixer sounds like it will be the perfect opportunity then, dear," Sister Julienne offered sweetly, patting Jenny's hand.

Jenny smiled at her, relieved she would have a chance so soon, while Cynthia looked a bit sick, already worrying if she could summon up the nerve to ask Alfie tomorrow evening.

Apparently having spread enough ill will for the evening, the Poshes ate quickly and left the table, clearing their plates as they did so. The others lingered, enjoying a jam roly-poly and conversing politely with the nuns about recent League business as well as plans for the Charity Ball, including their hopes to raise enough funds to make a significant impact for St Camillus' Neonatal Ward.

"Of course we will be present," Sister Monica Joan promised, "I haven't missed a Charity Ball yet." Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, "We shall be there for dinner and announcements," then as her expression clouded, "but leave soon after the dancing starts."

"As well we should," Sister Evangelina reiterated, "the last thing I need rattling round my brain is the image of you lot making fools of yourself on the dance floor." She pointed her finger, liberally including everyone seated at the table.

The nurses were failing in their attempt to keep straight faces when suddenly, a boisterous noise in the front hall alerted them to Trixie's arrival. She burst dramatically into the dining room, brandishing a small piece of paper in her hand. Bending slightly at the waist as she gasped for breath, she announced, "This was on our notice board. Just as I was leaving I looked up and there it was with Shelagh's name on it, shining like a beacon!" Her face radiated with triumph.

Shelagh blushed as she reached out to take the letter, then placed it beside her plate.

"I ran half the way here," Trixie huffed goodnaturedly, "the least you could do is read it!"

Shaking her head in embarrassment, Shelagh looked down to open what she found was actually several post-it notes stuck together, her name inscribed, just a wee bit illegibly, on the topmost sheet. Smiling in recognition, she took in the dark, block-lettered logo of a familiar scientific publisher: _Wiley, Now You Know_. Clearly she wasn't the only one to resort to whatever stationary was on hand. Peeling off the first note that bore just her name, she read quietly to herself:

_Shelagh, I'm sorry to hear you have been unwell and even more so that I missed the opportunity to see you at the hospital today. In answer to your question, no, I have not read Lynsey's note. I do, however, know what it is about. Unfortunately, I will not be at the party; my shift tomorrow ends late and I will most certainly have a stack of charts to update. Please talk to me; if you don't find a chance here at the hospital, then ring me at home. Patrick_

To her delight, she saw that he had written his residential telephone number beneath his name.

"Well?" Trixie asked impatiently.

"I think we've made a start," Shelagh whispered, her dimples giving away the pleased grin she was bashfully trying to hide.

xxxx

The next evening, Shelagh sat dreamily on her bed, turning Patrick's post-it note letter over and over in her hands. Around her, the other nurses flitted in and out, enthusiastic in their preparations for the Uni mixer.

Cynthia paused to sit on the edge of her mattress, "Are you sure you won't come with us?"

"No," she shook her head, "I should use the time to study."

"We all should." Trixie raised an eyebrow at her through the mirror as she applied bright red lipstick, "but we're entitled to a bit of fun." She pressed her lips together, then displayed a model-worthy pout into the looking glass.

"You can't fool us, old thing," Chummy teased as she bumbled into the already crowded room. "Studying that _letter _is more like it, or have you memorized it by now?" But her smile showed her friend she was ever so pleased for her.

"Oh, yes," Cynthia continued in jest, "she'll be making notes on the best time to ring him, how long she should wait until he'll be home to receive the call..."

Shelagh flicked her hand at them, effectively batting away their teasing, which only encouraged their giggles.

They looked up as Blythe slumped into the room, wearing her dressing gown and holding a hot water bottle across her stomach. She gestured for Cynthia to make room for her on the bed. "My monthly visitor," she offered as an explanation, then sighed, "is _everyone _going to the mixer?"

"The three of us are," Trixie replied, "and Jenny's been picked up by Nigel. But Hadley and Lynsey are on a shift at the hospital, as you know."

"I'll be staying home," Shelagh soothed, "can I get you a paracetamol?"

Blythe nodded forlornly as the other girls made to leave for the party. In the corridor they quietly wished Shelagh good luck both with nursing Blythe and plotting her next move with Patrick. She rolled her eyes in their direction as their mirth followed them down the stairs and out the front door.

In no time at all she had Blythe tucked up on the sofa with a good view of the television and a tape of recorded _Moonlighting _episodes playing on the VCR. Shelagh took her books into the library, intent on revising, but all too soon realised she couldn't make her mind stick with her studies and drifted back into the sitting room to enjoy the programme with Blythe. Two episodes later, she moved into the kitchen to make them a hot drink and her thoughts traveled once again to Patrick. As she pictured spending more time with him, she wondered what it would be like. Certainly not like those _Moonlighting _characters with their Blue Moon Detective Agency; the bantering duo seemed a world away from the images she conjured when thinking of Patrick and herself. Placing the kettle on the fire, she set about spooning powdered Ovaltine into two mugs. _Patrick_...what would he be doing just now? Working through his patient notes, no doubt. She imagined herself recording notations alongside him, sharing his workspace, his fingers brushing against hers as he passed her a file…

The telephone rang shrilly, startling her out of her daydream.

Stepping into the corridor, she picked up the handset, "Nonnatus House, Nurse Mannion speaking."

Frantic, yet muffled voices could be heard through the line. Finally she heard Trixie's clear tone, "Shelagh? It's Trixie, we've managed to find a telephone box and enough coins between the three of us."

"Trixie?" The reason for the call was still unclear. "Is something the matter?"

"Frightfully! Patrick is here, at the party... and so is Lynsey!"

Shelagh felt as though her heart had leapt into her throat. The background voices were still evident, although they remained garbled.

"They must have all dashed here once their shifts ended." Trixie continued urgently, "Can you get yourself here as soon as possible?"

Chummy shouted into the mouthpiece, "We'll do our best to keep her away from him!"

"It won't be that difficult," Trixie laughed, "he's avoiding her!"

"Nevertheless…" Chummy fretted.

"Quite," Shelagh murmured, hearing her pulse pounding in her ears. Setting down the receiver, her thoughts raced as frantically as her heart rate. _She must get to the mixer! But it was far too late to be running around London on her own. _Catching her reflection in the nearest window, she started… _she looked a right mess!_

Forcing herself to remain calm, she entered the kitchen and turned off the gas under the teapot, then returned to the sitting room.

Blythe, buried under one of Sister Monica Joan's knitted blankets, glanced up as she came in, "Where's the Ovaltine?"

"I was thinking," Shelagh said slowly, while her mind jumped several steps ahead, "since you seem to be feeling better… maybe we should go to the mixer?"

"_Now?_"

"Well, I feel like we're missing out and we really shouldn't. As Trixie said earlier, we deserve a bit of fun." Shelagh felt a pang of guilt at her subterfuge, but it vanished as Patrick's face appeared in her mind. Keeping her voice level, she stated breezily, "I think I'll just pop upstairs and freshen up a bit. I'm sure you'll feel brighter if you do, too."

Blythe sighed, "I might as well, I'm still looking for a date to the dance." Gingerly, she moved herself off of the sofa and followed Shelagh up the stairs.

Hiding a smile, Shelagh quickly entered her bedroom and shut the door, then began a desperate attempt to pull herself together. She threw on the closest pair of jeans she could find and chose an oversized yellow jumper from her wardrobe. Pulling off her scrunchie, she fluffed at her hair the best she could before grabbing the gold hoop earrings from her jewelry box. Stuffing her feet into a pair of high top Reeboks, she returned to the corridor to meet Blythe who, irritatingly enough, looked amazing despite being the one who until a few moments ago was poorly.

Grabbing their coats, they rushed to the underground station and once on board their train set about applying the makeup they had hastily stuffed in their handbags. Shelagh's hands were shaking so badly she gave up altogether on eyeliner, but managed the rest of her beauty routine, despite the motion of the train and its harsh lighting. She spent the remainder of the journey doing her best to calm her nerves and hide her anxiety from Blythe.

Practically running from the tube station, they caught sight of the entrance to the party and stopped short. As one of the newest buildings on campus, the Student Central was part of the smoke-free initiative. A crush of dispirited partygoers stood hunched round the front doors, hastily smoking before regaining access to the mixer. Hanging back so as not to draw unnecessary attention, Shelagh and Blythe settled themselves and shared a conspiratory giggle before approaching the building and entering the large room as nonchalantly as possible.

The first familiar faces Shelagh saw were Jenny and Nigel. She was seated at a tall chair and he leaned toward her, whispering in her ear to be heard over the noise of pounding music and countless voices. Shelagh hid a smirk; looking straight out of Miami Vice in a t-shirt, pastel blazer and trousers, and shoes but no socks, Nigel was as high maintenance as his date. Jenny's face was radiant, however, a clear indication she had been successful in inviting him to the ball.

Her friends rushed up to greet her and Shelagh was filled with renewed apprehension. While Trixie explained the current status of the situation, she noticed Chummy and Cynthia looking uncomfortably toward a large group of men. It seemed as though finding a quiet moment alone with Alfie or Peter wouldn't be happening this evening.

Blythe, on the other hand, had been immediately targeted by both Oliver and Leo, who appeared to be competing for her attention. Leo was more likely to succeed, but Oliver wasn't known for giving up easily nor for his social awareness of probable defeat. Lynsey and Hadley sulked nearby looking put out by Blythe's popularity. Following the direction of Lynsey's stare, Shelagh's stomach flipped as she saw Patrick conversing with a group of Economics students. He wore classic 501 jeans and a wrinkled button down shirt, probably pulled from the back of his locker at the hospital. Looking a wee bit tired, as was expected after a long shift, his hair was mussed and the lower half of his face darkened with stubble. She blinked several times and reminded herself to breathe.

Trixie nudged her and hissed, "What are you waiting for?"

"My palms are sweaty," she complained.

Cynthia laughed and handed her a napkin, "You've got this," she encouraged.

"He's been watching for you since he got here!" Trixie squealed as quietly as she could.

"And avoiding Lynsey like the plague!" Chummy chortled. "Here, have a sip of my Babycham."

Obediently, Shelagh swallowed a restorative mouthful. Then after a deep breath, waved cheerfully in his direction.

The wide grin that crossed his face caused his aura of fatigue to vanish. This calmed her slightly and she waited with anticipation as he quickly excused himself from his group. Her friends discreetly faded away as he approached her.

"There you are!" he beamed.

His exuberance made her somewhat shy and she stammered, "I… I didn't think you would be here!"

He chuckled. "You gave me the incentive I needed to make the effort," then followed his comment with a confident wink.

Again, his manner caused her to blush. Searching for something to say, she came up with, "How was your shift?"

"Not too difficult." He seemed so relaxed, leaning back on his heels with his hands in his pockets and smiling down at her in a way that was becoming delightfully familiar.

She cleared her throat in an attempt to calm her nerves. Never having asked someone out before, she found she was stalling, terrified of saying the words. Instead she threw out, "What about your charting?"

"I'll come in early tomorrow," he said with mock seriousness, raising his index finger to punctuate his point; she felt the heat rise in her face, remembering her earlier daydream. Her response was a quiet giggle, but an awkward silence followed. She tried looking around the room and wished she had held on to Chummy's glass so she would have something to do with her hands.

"Shelagh," Patrick was talking to her.

"Hmmm?" she looked up into his face and tried not to lose herself in his eyes. The noise and hubbub that surrounded them seemed to fade away.

"Did you want to ask me something?" he said softly.

"I did," she breathed, but her mouth was dry, her palms had begun to sweat again and she felt a queasiness in her stomach.

"I thought so." He waited, his gaze never leaving her face.

She swallowed with some difficulty and took another deep breath. "I was wondering…" she had to glance away, not quite able to look him in the eye. "I was wondering if you would like to go to the Charity Ball with me?" Her voice dropped at the end of her question, almost failing her.

But he replied immediately, "It would be my honour."

His answer was filled with such sincerity she thought her heart would melt. Exhaling a breath she felt she had been holding since her arrival, she dared to look at him, eyes shining with relief and joy. His were glittering and she delighted again in the tiny creases beside them as a result of his unmistakable happiness in this moment. "Then it's a date," she whispered, smiling broadly into his grin which echoed her own.


	5. Chapter 5

_Total Eclipse of the Heart, Bonnie Tyler_

The mixer had taken place a week ago, but Shelagh still walked around as if on a cloud. Her friends couldn't help but tease her for the constant dreamy smile she wore and the literal glow she had about her since asking Patrick to be her date to the dance. Even working on the last minute details for the ball, no matter how mundane, excited her in light of what promised to be a perfect evening.

As they waited, Shelagh prepared for her nursing student practical exams while Patrick was mired in tasks related to the hospital inspection. This left little time for each other and it seemed the ball would be their first official date, a prospect Shelagh found sweetly romantic. Still they met for tea when their breaks coincided and worked side by side on two complicated midwifery cases. When she had a late shift, Patrick walked her to the tube station but, to Trixie's disappointment, there were no kisses as yet to be reported.

On Thursday afternoon Nonnatus House was abuzz as the nurses readied themselves to attend the Medical Students' cricket match. While Jenny fussed over her Madonna-inspired look, Trixie contemplated how much neon she should wear at once and Cynthia and Chummy vowed to hold each other accountable and speak with Alfie and Peter before leaving the community grounds. Realising that it would be a long wait for her friends, Shelagh drifted into the chapel for a few minutes of quiet. Seating herself in the first row of chairs, she closed her eyes and thought ahead to the match...Patrick in his cricket whites, exhibiting his athletic skill... Shaking her head to refocus her mind, she blushed as she began to thank God for his many _blessings_, then asked for his help, for herself as well as her colleagues, throughout the upcoming exams, hospital review and charity ball. Upon finishing, she turned her eyes to the late afternoon sun streaming through the stained glass window above the altar and enjoyed the stillness of the moment, reflecting in peace on God's goodness.

Outside in the corridor, Lynsey stood, partially hidden, by the chapel door. She beckoned silently to the other Poshes as they descended the staircase, a malicious expression on her face. "Let's see what _Sister Shelagh_ thinks of this," she whispered spitefully. Raising her voice she continued with a defiant look, "Today's match will be a good opportunity to find a date for the dance. I may have once wanted to go with Patrick Turner, but I'm glad it didn't work out. You know he's been married before." She waited, eyebrows raised in anticipation, waiting for the news to sink in.

Inside the chapel, Shelagh heard the distressing words and felt as though her heart had stopped. Where moments ago there had been peace, an uneasiness was building_._ Nevertheless, she sat quietly and listened.

"You mean he has a wife?" Hadley was saying.

There was a pause and Shelagh strained to hear what was going on.

In the corridor, Lynsey glared at Blythe who appeared unsure. Lynsey raised a Vans-clad foot to stamp on her shoe causing Blythe to yelp, before clarifying shakily, "An ex-wife."

Shelagh's anxiety deepened. _How had she not known this? But then again, why would she have?_

"So he's divorced…" Hadley's voice held a twinge of intrigue. "Oh, that's _interesting_."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Shelagh's mind whirled. _Did this really change anything? She had no right to judge; the church didn't after all. _

Out in the corridor, Lynsey eyed her friends conspiratorially. "It's not interesting," she sniped, "it's revolting...because he was entirely at fault."

Blythe shook her head in apprehension, silently begging Lynsey not to continue.

Completely ignoring her, Lynsey pressed on. "He cheated on her," she stated bluntly, a venomous look in her eye.

Shelagh clutched the edge of her chair with numb fingers and felt a rising panic as blood pounded in her ears.

"It's no wonder she left him," Lynsey was saying, "the filthy bounder."

Nausea gripped her stomach like a vise and Shelagh wondered if she might faint. As their voices faded away down the corridor, she let the tears she had been fighting fall freely. The devastation she felt was palpable; there wasn't any way she could build a relationship with someone who was capable of behavior such as his. She drug herself out of the chapel, seeking to find refuge in her bedroom to deal with the disappointment and heartbreak on her own. Passing through the front hall, she encountered Oliver. _Why was he here instead of at the pitch?_ She made an attempt to control her emotions as she greeted him, but both her mind and thoughts were jumbled, trying to make sense of all she had overheard. Doubt began to niggle at the back of her brain; the details didn't align with what she felt she knew of Patrick's character, and the Poshes weren't the most trustworthy of sources...

She realised Oliver was explaining his presence, something about a groin injury and being unable to participate in the match. _Did she really need this much information?_ He was here to escort any or all of the nurses to the stadium. Escaping upstairs was all she wanted until she remembered just exactly who she was talking to...a friend of Patrick's.

Somehow she managed to turn the conversation vaguely to Dr Turner's past. Looking back, she wouldn't remember the words she used or how gracefully, or clumsily, they were offered, but she would always remember Oliver's response.

He grimaced and sucked in a breath. Shaking his head and glancing away, he confirmed, "Hmm, yes, that was...some bad business."

Her heart broke anew as the small ray of recent hope was quickly crushed. With no more strength for common courtesy, she turned away and left him where he stood. Brushing past her friends on the staircase, she made feeble excuses followed by irrational claims that she would prefer not to discuss what was so clearly bothering her. Having no other choice, they left for the match, but in their concern alerted the nuns of her distress.

Alone once more, Shelagh lay on her bed in the dim room, her pillow wet with tears and guilt heavy on her chest. _How had she lost sight of her goal and fallen prey to this distraction from her purpose?_ She knew she should turn to God, but couldn't find the words. Covering her face with her hands, she wept until her guilt turned to anger and she chastised herself for allowing an attachment to develop with someone so obviously unknown to her. Without warning, the resentment changed direction, her rage now focused on him and his responsibility in the matter...presenting himself as a decent person when he had caused such harm to his marriage. She stacked up the record of his offenses on the scales of justice: selfish, impulsive, childish, deceitful. The uneven calibration convinced her of his guilt and her eyes overflowed anew.

Frustrated by passivity, she abruptly sat up, wiping her eyes roughly with unsteady fingers. She jammed her glasses onto her face, reached for a notebook and ripped out a sheet of paper. Written communication was the only course of action, she couldn't countenance speaking to him in person. A letter on the tea room notice board was the only answer, she determined, and began to write:

_Dr Turner, I should have realised before, but I've too much responsibility to the League as chairwoman of the Charity Ball to be able to entertain a date at the event. It wouldn't be fair to any of the parties involved. Thank you for your understanding. S Mannion_

Stuffing the note in her pocket, she walked down the quiet staircase intent on fetching her coat and making the trip to the hospital while most of her colleagues were still at the match. But as she passed the chapel, Sisters Julienne and Monica Joan called out, inviting her to join them. She stiffened, but stepped politely into the small room, unable to fathom how it could ever again feel like a place of refuge for her. The sisters were seated side by side and she envied the serenity they reflected in the glow of the altar's candlelight.

"Whatever is the matter?" Sister Julienne gasped, after seeing her tear streaked face.

Shaking her head, she muttered, "It's personal." The once comforting scent of furniture polish caused her stomach to turn sour.

Sister Monica Joan reached for her hand, her face full of compassion, "It is clear you are deeply distressed!"

"I am," she whispered, welling up again. "It appears I have misjudged someone." She choked on a sob, "and I have been disappointed by the truth."

Sister Julienne was perplexed as she peered intently at the young nurse. "But that doesn't seem like you! You are generally such a good judge of character."

"Not in this case," Shelagh looked away and toward the door, hoping to soon escape through it.

Instead, Sister Julienne slid over one chair and drew Shelagh into the seat between them. "Are you certain?" she asked earnestly, looking her directly in the eye.

"Don't you see? What I've learned..." Shelagh huffed in exasperation, "I want nothing more to do with this person!" She patted at the pocket that held the note. "I just want to deliver this letter and have done with it."

Sister Monica Joan handed her a slightly crumpled tissue from her own pocket. "Child, '_we are very good lawyers for our own mistakes, but very good judges for the mistakes of others'._"

Shelagh didn't answer, instead silently dabbing at her tears as they left splashes on her lenses.

"Do you not believe," the sister continued, "in the right to defend oneself against an allegation?"

When it became clear that their strained conversation was over, Sister Julienne offered, "at least let us pray with you before you leave." At Shelagh's brief nod, she took one of her hands, as her sister took the other, and began to pray. "Heavenly Father, we ask that you bring comfort and peace to our dear sister in Christ. We know it is your desire that your children live in harmony and we ask that you heal what has been broken; if there are untruths, we pray that you would right them; and we beseech you to pave the way for reconciliation. Above all we ask for your will to be done. In the name of our Lord, Amen."

With a squeeze to the sisters' hands and a tight smile, Shelagh left the chapel. In the darkened front hall she took her coat and left Nonnatus House, her original plan unaltered. Had she listened to Sister Julienne's prayer? Of course she had, and she knew deep in her heart what God expected of her. The words of a Psalm came to her, "_How good and pleasant it is when God's people live together in unity!" _But the shock and pain were fresh enough that she could not submit to his will. Stubbornly she set her jaw, blinked back her tears, and turned in the direction of the hospital.

xxxx

By the time the others returned home later that night, Shelagh was back in bed, cried out, but unable to sleep. From the exuberant din in the corridor, she gathered the medical students had won the match. She could just make out what Chummy and Cynthia were saying, and recognised a different joy in their voices, indicating they had secured their dates with Peter and Alfie. Her stomach twisted in grief as she remembered her own, albeit fleeting, delight of last week. She was truly happy for her friends, but it was bittersweet. A soft knocking on her door caused her to grunt in response.

Trixie poked her head in, "Shelagh? I wanted to check on you before I went to sleep." She tiptoed in and pulled a chair up alongside the bed. "Oh dear, you look miserable. Tell me what it is?"

"No." Shelagh huffed, blowing a stray lock of hair away from her face and refusing to meet her friend's eye.

"Look, I know it's something to do with Patrick…" Trixie's sympathy was evident in both her words and her expression.

After a pause Shelagh stated, flatly, "He's not who I thought he was."

Trixie tilted her head in confusion, "But what's he done? You can't have seen him since this morning?"

"You're right," Shelagh said, crossing her arms over her chest, her mouth set in a grim line. "But I've heard the truth about him nonetheless."

"Heard?" Trixie asked, her forehead creased in bewilderment. "Heard from whom?"

Sighing heavily, Shelagh rotated to her side, turning her back on her friend. She wouldn't tell her who, Trixie would discount it flat out; but Shelagh had Oliver's additional account. Stubbornly she kept the details to herself.

"Shelagh," Trixie implored, "he deserves a chance to explain himself!"

Receiving no answer, Trixie waited, listening for some time to Shelagh's quiet sniffles. She laid her hand on her friend's back in an offer of support and sat beside her for another quarter of an hour, then got up and left the room.

Shelagh flopped onto her back, stared at the ceiling and vowed to protect herself; there would be no more distractions. Listening as her bedside clock ticked the seconds away, she prepared for a long and sleepless night.

xxxx

Several days had passed, but Shelagh was still deeply discouraged and it was coloring her mood. The long walks she took through London to clear her mind were supposed to be helping, but her outlook was grim. She despaired at the soot and grime, the scattered cigarette butts, the scaffolding that seemed to be everywhere. Passing a park, she felt envious of the groups of relaxed and happy people enjoying a spot of lunch on the grass. Someone's boombox blared _No More Words_, by Berlin. She blinked back tears at the lyrics… "_no more words and no more promises of love."_

Shaking it off, she tried to find something positive on which to focus her thoughts. There was much to do at the moment, her exams had begun on Monday, coinciding with the hospital evaluation committee's arrival. That left little time to wallow in her own problems. So far she had been able to circumvent most interaction with the doctor by avoiding the medical students' tea room. It was easy enough to take her short and infrequent breaks in the nurses' locker room.

The pain had dulled to a point where she could once again come to God in prayer. She eschewed the chapel, but found quiet moments in her room or during her walks. Her appeals were more desperate pleas than eloquent words, but she was beginning to find solace again in the Lord's presence and his promises.

Turning onto Hendy Street she was comforted by the sight of home; a hot bath and a cup of tea would improve her spirits and prepare her for the rest of their hectic week.

But serenity was in short supply at Nonnatus House. The nurses' nerves were frayed as they revised for, and anxiously awaited, their practical exams. These were scheduled on a rotation, and each nurse could expect one or two per morning ranging from patient paperwork to actual deliveries.

Seated at one of the long library tables, Chummy was twisting herself in knots over the many recommendations and concerns to watch for during the various stages of pregnancy. "I just know I'll forget everything the minute I see the ward sister with her clipboard lurking in the corner of the exam booth!"

"You'll be fine, Chummy," soothed Cynthia. "Meanwhile I struggled to hear mother's heartbeat over my own while taking a blood pressure this morning." She dropped her head into her hands.

Jenny patted her back sympathetically. "Four more days," she sighed. "I'm glad I got my delivery practicum over with today. Everything else will be much more straightforward."

"Is that supposed to make the rest of us feel _better_?" Hadley wondered, with a roll of her eyes.

"Our own exams are enough to be going on with," Trixie lamented, pressing her fingers against her temples, "but at any time we're also to be prepared to demonstrate or answer questions for the hospital reviewers; it's madness!"

"Oh, would you listen to the lot of you!" Sister Evangelina's voice boomed from where she was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. The nurses looked sheepishly in her direction. "Do you think you're the first to go through your exams? You'll survive, just like many have done before you."

A soft murmur spread throughout the library, "Yes, Sister."

"That's better. Now, you've all been covered in prayer so I say, stop your bellyaching and get on with it!" She lumbered out of the room shaking her head as she went.

xxxx

As the week wound down, the nurses continued to be concerned for Shelagh. She was subdued and although extremely focused, lacked any genuine enthusiasm.

"And it's not just Shelagh," Trixie whispered to Cynthia one afternoon in the St Camillus tea room, "Dr Turner looks like a lost puppy, peeking into every corridor as if searching for her."

"If only she wanted to be found," Cynthia sighed, nibbling on her egg sandwich.

"What's worse is Lynsey," Trixie huffed in exasperation. "She's trying to close in on him." Narrowing her eyes, she continued with disgust, "You know she only wants him because she can't have him."

"She's getting a bit desperate," Cynthia grimaced, "it's obvious he's not interested."

Trixie nodded in agreement and swallowed the last of her coffee. "With the strain we've all been under, it's a miracle he hasn't smacked her one."

They were giggling at the very idea of it just as the man in question appeared and joined the queue at the tea room counter. He looked as tired as the rest of the medical students, the tension evident in the way he carried his shoulders.

"Oi, Turner!" Nigel called from a table near the medical students' notice board.

Patrick, who had been counting the coins he removed from his pocket, turned in the direction of Nigel's voice.

Leaning back in his chair, Nigel gestured toward the board. "Looks like you've got quite the fancy letter here!" He shot his colleague an exaggerated wink.

Trixie scowled. "Lynsey again," she hissed at Cynthia.

With a long suffering sigh and a gesture of exasperation, Patrick pressed his lips together, apparently to prevent a verbal outburst. Then, abandoning his spot in the queue, he stormed out of the tea room. Trixie and Cynthia watched in surprise as Blythe rushed to follow him out the door.

She ran down the corridor, "Dr Turner!"

He stopped as she caught up with him. "What is it, Nurse?" he asked, impatiently.

Blythe hedged for a moment, studying her shoes. "I think there is something you should know…"

He was still perturbed, "Oh, yes?"

She nodded, hesitantly, "Something about...Shelagh."

His face softened, but there was pain behind it.

Blythe glanced around the corridor, making sure they were alone, then whispered. "She may have been fed a lie."

He shook his head, his brow creased in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"About your past," she wrung her hands and took a deep breath, "in reference to your personal life."

"I'm not sure I understand…"

Her eyes filled with tears, "I can't say anymore, I'm sorry!" She swept past him and disappeared in the direction of the nurses' locker room.

Standing in the empty corridor, he ran his hand over his face and sighed. _His past? _There was only one part of his past that truly mattered; the point where he had lost sight of hope. For a brief moment he thought he had found it again in Shelagh. _Dare he look for hope in this vague message? _


	6. Chapter 6

_Don't Stop Believing, Journey_

Friday afternoon brought the frantic week at St Camillus to a close and the very building seemed to exhale a sigh of relief. Every nursing or medical student lucky enough to have the night off poured out of the hospital doors despite the drizzling rain.

Trixie and Shelagh waited under a canopy, in the forecourt outside of reception, deciding whether or not the steady mist warranted the use of their umbrellas. Glancing behind her at the sound of the door, Shelagh's stomach twisted uncomfortably as Patrick emerged. Still hurt and disappointed, she had successfully avoided him all week, but her luck had obviously run out.

He smiled lopsidedly and stopped beside them. Shelagh mentally rolled her eyes; he wasn't making this easy for her.

"Well, we've survived it," he said on a weary sigh.

"Now to wait for the results," Trixie grinned, her expression a mixture of optimism and angst.

"Quite." He paused for a moment before apparently making the decision to continue, "I'm just heading to The George for a pint, can I buy you ladies a drink?"

Shelagh shook her head and opened her mouth to decline, but Trixie spoke right over her, "How thoughtful, we'd love one!" As the three of them negotiated their umbrellas, Trixie met Shelagh's glare with a smirk.

The old pub was a short walk from the hospital and, therefore, popular with the medical students and nurses. They made their way down a cobbled lane and in the direction of the river. Twin navy blue doors, separated by a frosted-glass window, welcomed them to the establishment. Once inside the smoky interior they declined the long bar, hoping for one of the tables crowded together in the rear of the ground floor.

"What will you have?" Patrick asked as they stowed their wet weather gear. He had to shout to be heard over the competing cacophony of cheerful voices and the pub's sound system, "I'll get the drinks while you find a table?"

"Perfect!" Trixie was in her element, "I'll have a G & T," she twinkled.

"Half cider," Shelagh mumbled, and turned to seek out a table. Finding one in a stuffy corner, she slumped into an uncomfortable wooden chair, narrowing her eyes at her so called friend. "What are we doing here?" she hissed.

"Just being polite," Trixie smiled innocently, her wide eyes taking a survey of the other patrons. She straightened the oversized broach on her jacket, then adjusted her matching chunky earrings.

Shelagh's irritation grew the more Trixie seemed to be enjoying herself and the smoky atmosphere was already beginning to irritate her respiratory system. All too soon, Patrick arrived with their drinks. His fringe fell over his forehead as he set the glasses on the table, but Shelagh stubbornly refused to be affected by it.

"Thank you!" Trixie trilled. Shelagh felt she was laying it on a bit thick and scowled at her. She quickly wished she could take back the uncharitable action as Trixie rose from her seat. "Oh look, there's Charlie, I'll be right back!" Without waiting for a response, she picked up her glass and was gone.

An awkward silence settled over the table. The dark, wood panelled walls echoed with the noisy chatter of the other guests around them, magnified since the outside terrace was unavailable due to the inclement weather. Shelagh took a polite sip of her cider and wondered how soon she could make an excuse to leave. There was his crooked smile again, but she looked away, unable to forget what she had overheard. At the bar, Jenny sat sulking while Nigel raised a pint, looking unperturbed; cynically she wondered how long that pairing could possibly last.

She heard Patrick clear his throat, "Shelagh," he attempted.

Turning cold eyes upon him, she stated evenly, "Yes."

He rotated his pint glass in his hands before he spoke, but looked at her directly. "I'm afraid you may have heard something that wasn't true…"

She huffed, unsurprised by the tack he had chosen, then winced at the irony of _Tainted Love_ currently blaring its way through the pub's speakers .

"We don't really know each other," he explained, gently.

"Clearly," her tone was bitter now.

He tried again, his voice tender, "I don't know what you've heard, but in case it had something to do with my marriage -"

She stiffened.

"I see." He dipped his head for a moment, then with a small sigh, continued softly, "It's not something I talk about and I suppose that may have led others to speculate… but if there's any chance left of us _getting _to know each other, then I'd like you to hear it from me."

Sitting very still, she considered refusing to listen. But in the end, she pressed her lips together and nodded curtly.

Patrick sat up straighter in his chair, as if to steel himself. His words were confident, yet grave. "Anne and I married young, soon after I finished my degree in education. I began teaching Biology, and a bit of English Literature, at Bexley Grammar School. Not long afterwards, Anne fell pregnant."

Shelagh's stomach knotted, this was only getting worse; she felt her pulse pounding in her ears as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Abbie was born that summer and she was beautiful," his smile was tinged with sadness, "a perfect baby girl."

Suddenly, she felt a cold flush come over her. A different kind of panic rose up as the expression on his face alerted her to the possibility that this story wasn't heading in the direction she thought it was. She felt the first prickle of threatening tears.

He took a deep breath. "Then in November, Abbie died." He paused to blink away his own tears before answering her unspoken question, "Cot death." Looking away, he took the time he needed to control his emotions.

Shelagh sat in stunned silence. Where once her features had been set in defensiveness, they gave way to shock, then softened into deep compassion. Tears flooded her eyes, first in response to her sorrow, and then her shame. She was beginning to see that she may have been manipulated. _How could she have been so foolish to believe Lynsey? _

Patrick, now composed, went on, "There was nothing we did, or could have done, but it ate away at me." He ran a hand over his face. "Anne needed me, but I wasn't there for her emotionally. Instead I was obsessed with reading everything I could on the phenomenon. Then, impulsively, I decided to change career paths and threw myself into preparation for medical school."

As Shelagh's tears began to slide down her face, he retrieved his handkerchief and slid it across the table. Taking it, she dried her cheeks with its folded edge. Her mind spun. _What had Oliver actually said…it was a 'bad business'? Had she jumped to conclusions?_

His shoulders sagged as he leaned into the table, but he pressed on. "Our marriage couldn't survive once one of us had abandoned it emotionally." The melancholy in his eyes devastated her as he concluded, "we divorced a year later."

Her heart was breaking for him as she realised how wrong she had been to believe such a distasteful exploitation of the truth. Finally able to speak, she breathed, "I'm so sorry."

He nodded shortly, "Me, too." Then, in his face, she saw a ray of hope. "But I've taken a good hard look at myself since then. I accepted help, focused on improving my mental health, and I learned not to shut people out when things get difficult." He shifted in his chair to reach into the pocket of his trousers, "Here, let me show you something."

She sniffled quietly while he pulled a tattered piece of paper from his wallet and removed his reading glasses from his shirt pocket. "Some reminders for me," he said, sliding the lenses on and pointing to the card, "Most importantly, communication. That includes listening to the other person and sharing what I'm feeling as well."

Shelagh nodded, thinking she could have, and should have, taken that same advice and put it to use this past week.

"There's also a verse someone gave me that's applicable." He turned the paper over and read: "Philippians 2:4. '_Do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others.'"_

He looked so innocently pleased with himself, in a boyish way, as he caught her gaze once more and she found her eyes filling up again as she surrendered to the effect both his expression, and his floppy fringe, had on her.

"We were very young," he said as he tucked the card back into his billfold. "If I had known then what I know now…" he frowned slightly and folded his glasses, setting them on the table. "Well, I'll know it going forward." He rested his hands on either side of his belongings and looked at her, adding seriously. "I will never make that mistake again; if I ever have another chance, that is."

Her heart melted as one side of his mouth twitched tentatively toward a smile. She thought about placing one of her own hands over his, in a gesture of peace, but in her hesitation she missed out on the moment. He returned the glasses and his wallet to their respective pockets and stood, beginning to tidy their empty glassware and napkins into the centre of the table.

She stood as well and while he bent to organise the table, she took the opportunity his proximity provided and leaned in to softly kiss his cheek. Her lips brushed briefly against the side of his roughened face before she pulled back, praying she hadn't overstepped. His look of surprised joy as he straightened up told her she needn't have worried, then he reached for her and drew her into his embrace.

"I thought…" she murmured against his chest.

"Shhhh…" he soothed away her words.

Trying to pull away, she implored, "But she said…"

He held her to him, "It doesn't matter now."

A cheer rose up from another corner of the pub, but she tuned it out; there were only the two of them in this moment. Relaxing into his arms, she whispered, "Please forgive me."

He placed a kiss on the top of her head and answered quietly, "I already have."

Stepping apart, they smiled helplessly at each other. Then Patrick took her hand and led her toward the front entrance. Trixie, Charlie and a few others were sitting close together, singing along to Squeeze's _Black Coffee in Bed_. Shelagh caught her eye and pantomimed that she would meet her outside. Passing by the bar, she noticed Jenny and Nigel laughing together, their earlier tiff apparently smoothed over for the time being.

There was very little room outside of the pub as Patrick and Shelagh huddled together under the small covering in front of one of the doors. Every so often they were disturbed by another patron entering or exiting, but the sound of the light rain was calming after the noise of the public house. Patrick hadn't yet let go of her hand and as they stared out into the fine mist, he raised it to his lips, kissing her fingers ever so gently. "Shelagh," he said, the huskiness of his voice full of a reverence that both thrilled and comforted her. "May I please escort you to your dance?"

"Yes," she beamed up at him, "you may."


	7. Chapter 7

_Let's Dance, David Bowie_

Shelagh smiled proudly as she looked around the Octagon ballroom and then to the seven other people seated at her table. The Charity Ball was off to a wonderful start, she thought, scooping up a bite of the roasted potatoes and baby carrots that accompanied her chicken entrée. Patrick, seated next to her, looked very handsome in his tuxedo and she appreciated the way he was keeping Sisters Julienne and Monica Joan entertained with a lively discussion regarding an article from _The Lancet _about the aging British population. The sounds of other conversations and the clinking of glassware were masked by the soft classical dinner music playing throughout the hall.

Across from her, Blythe looked quite glamorous. She had decided on the gold lamé dress and, with Leo as her date, they were a striking couple. The young nurse had been distancing herself from the Poshes as of late and Shelagh and the other girls happily offered their support, even before Patrick hinted of Blythe's role in alerting him to Lynsey's deception.

At Shelagh's right, however, was an unlikely duo. Lynsey had ended up without a date and Sister Evangelina was currently bending her ear with strong opinions about the recent changes in hospital procedures. Despite her elegant, pale pink, strapless gown, Lynsey appeared to be miserable. Shelagh tried to summon a measure of sympathy but the phrase "you reap what you sow" kept coming to mind.

Patrick reached for her hand under the table as she joined in the conversation with the nuns. It had been two weeks since their reconciliation in the pub but much of her time had been allocated to a whirlwind of last minute dance details. They resumed meeting for tea, and occasional shared meals at the hospital, which allowed their friendship to bloom more than their romance. And yet they made the most of the time, leaving messages for each other on the break room notice boards when they could. She copied out the lyrics of a favorite love song for him while he tried his hand at writing a bit of original poetry. One afternoon she found a bulky envelope with a small silk rose tucked inside next to a letter describing how much he was looking forward to dancing with her.

As she had prepared for the ball, earlier in the evening, that thought was on her mind while she applied her makeup and fixed her hair, taking time to increase the volume with a teasing comb and a liberal amount of hair lacquer. Feeling her cheeks warm, as she imagined him holding her tightly while they swayed to the music, she placed a hand to her face to cool her blush, grateful she was alone. She would be leaving Nonnatus earlier than the rest of the girls in order to oversee the preliminary details at the ballroom.

Down the corridor, various gowns hung along the picture rail. Chummy had made her own frock, a black velvet fitted bodice over a flared hot pink satin skirt. Trixie's choice was a sexy, fitted cocktail gown, bright red with a low neckline and thin, rhinestone straps. A more demure sleeveless, lace dress in a pretty shade of turquoise would do for Cynthia, but Jenny kept hers hidden in its garment bag waiting for a dramatic reveal.

It was quiet on their floor, the burst of excited preparations for the ball hadn't begun yet for the rest of the girls. Chummy was out getting her hair done, hoping her perm could be coaxed into submission, and Jenny was in her room giving herself a manicure. Distantly Shelagh heard music, George Michael's, _Faith_; someone was tuned in to Radio 1. She stepped into her pale blue dress of embossed taffeta, just as there was a tap at her bedroom door. Holding the dress in place, she opened it to find Cynthia and Trixie peering around the doorframe.

"We just wondered how you were getting on," Cynthia asked quietly.

"Almost finished," Shelagh smiled, "would one of you zip me up?"

Trixie did the honours and Shelagh turned to look at herself in the full length mirror. She straightened the strapless dress and fluffed up the tiny ruffle that ran around the top of the bodice, then smoothed the tiered skirt of the same fabric which fell to just below her knees.

Trixie arched an eyebrow, "Patrick is one lucky guy," she quipped.

Shelagh giggled softly, trying to hide her grin. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do!" Trixie winked at her.

In an effort to change the subject, Shelagh gestured to her wardrobe. "Cynthia, would you hand me my shoes, please?" Then, pressing her lips together, she opened her jewelry box and removed a small gold pendant holding a single pearl and fastened the chain around her neck. Cynthia set the dyed to match satin shoes at her feet and Shelagh stepped into them while adding earrings to her ensemble. Humbly, she took in her reflection once again, as her friends looked over her shoulders, beaming their approval.

There was a flurry of excitement at the sound of the doorbell. Cynthia's eyes widened, "I'll let him in," she smiled, squeezing Shelagh's arm as she left the room.

Trixie turned to face her and narrowed her eyes, assessing her appearance one last time. She reached out to adjust a stray strand of hair, then straightened the clasp on her necklace. At last she took Shelagh's hands in hers and whispered, "Ready?"

"Yes," Shelagh breathed, a radiant smile on her face.

As she moved out to the landing she could see Patrick waiting for her down in the front hall. Alone, he paced the tiled floor and she noticed his hair looked as though he had spent more time on it...had he tried to feather it? She hid a grin, determined to do her part to coax back the floppy fringe she was so fond of.

Hearing her footsteps as she descended the stairs, he turned to see her, his eyes lighting up in a way that brought a flush to her face. He opened and closed his mouth several times before finally finding words as she approached him. "I'm a bit out of practice, taking a date to a dance," he stammered, "do people still buy these?" He offered her a small plastic box with a corsage of white rosebuds inside.

"Oh, Patrick," she said, taking it from him. "It's lovely!" She popped the box open and breathed in the sweet scent, her eyes sparkling as she held it out to him.

Picking up the floral spray, he prattled nervously, "Fortunately it has an elastic band, since there's nowhere to pin it- I mean..." Now he was the one to blush.

She smiled up at him and held out her arm. He slid the corsage onto her wrist before lifting her hand to his lips. Then instead of letting go, he tugged her hand, pulling her close to whisper in her ear, "You're beautiful."

She felt a shiver glide down her spine as his breath tickled her ear, then again when his lips brushed gently against her cheek. Pulling back, he offered her his arm and escorted her out to the MG.

Now, their meal drew to a close as the guests finished the last of their pudding, voices echoing off the high ceilings and book panelled walls of the former university library. Shelagh allowed herself a private moment of triumph, the ballroom was really quite stunning. She caught Trixie's eye, seated at the next table with the rest of the Nonnatuns and their dates, and together they made their way across the parquet floor to the front of the room where Shelagh accepted a microphone from the DJ.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled at Trixie's moral support, and addressed the room. "Good evening. On behalf of Nonnatus House and the League of Nursing Students, I want to express our heartfelt appreciation to everyone here tonight. Your support has allowed us to donate a significant sum to St Camillus Hospital's neonatal ward which will greatly improve care for vulnerable infants." As the room broke out into applause, she looked to Patrick. He smiled softly and they shared a moment of bittersweet understanding. Turning her attention back to the guests, she continued, "In addition, I offer my sincere thanks to those who worked so very hard to make this night possible. Now, as it is time for the dancing to begin," her eyes sparkled, cheeks dimpling as she cast a quietly enthusiastic smile around the room, "I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your evening." More applause hid her subtle sigh of relief as she turned to hand the microphone back to the DJ. Trixie, however, intercepted it and faced the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Trixie's ebullient voice rang throughout the ballroom, effectively stopping recently begun conversations. "There is one more person who deserves our highest praise." She put an arm around Shelagh who had been trying to slip out of the spotlight. "This amazing woman has put in more work than the rest of us combined. Please join me in thanking Miss Shelagh Mannion for orchestrating a fabulous event!" In response to the polite clapping, she encouraged further, "Oh you can do better than that, sweeties...a standing ovation please!" Trixie beamed as the guests followed her lead, rising to their feet with shouts and cheers.

Trixie hugged a blushing Shelagh, then spoke once more into the microphone, "Right, then. I need all of the Nonnatus ladies on the dance floor. Come on," she called, gesturing to the reluctant ones and catching Shelagh's hand as she again tried to bow out. "You, too, Sisters!" Sister Monica Joan popped up, pulling Sister Julienne and a wary Sister Evangelina with her. Giggling, Trixie winked at the DJ and he responded with the push of a button, causing Cyndi Lauper's distinctive voice to emanate from the speakers.

The Nonnatuns trickled onto the dance floor displaying various degrees of enthusiasm, but once there they were caught up in the dancing. Amidst squeals of laughter, they circled up, moving to the music in small clusters.

_Girls, they wanna have fun_

_Oh girls just want to have fun_

Chummy danced awkwardly alongside a tentative Cynthia until Sister Evangelina convinced them both to join her in the twist. Trixie was confidently in her element, successfully drawing a hesitant Shelagh into the fun. Hadley and Lynsey stuck together on one side of the floor, while Sisters Julienne and Monica Joan partnered up for some sort of two-step. Soon the entire group of Nonnatuns were enjoying themselves and singing along to the tune.

_They just wanna, they just wanna-ah-ah_

_Girls, girls just wanna have fun_

The assembled party dissolved into hugs and more giggles as the song concluded. Immediately, _Keep Feeling Fascination_ began to play and many of the young men crowded onto the floor, dancing with their respective dates to the beat of the new track. Hadley, however, abruptly left the crush of dancers to join the drinks queue, followed by an overly attentive Oliver. She had unfortunately settled for him as her date as well as Blythe's second rate, blue satin dress.

Shelagh and the sisters returned to their table and as the nuns thanked her and prepared to leave, Patrick stepped close and whispered in her ear, "Shall we?"

"Oh, I don't know, Patrick," she demurred, pulling out her chair, "I'm not much of a dancer."

He took her arm to discourage her from seating herself. "You looked to be doing just fine," he commented, gesturing toward the dance floor she had recently vacated.

Looking sheepish, she defended herself, "I couldn't very well sit that one out."

They watched the other couples out on the floor, some expertly dancing, others more clumsily, but most of the flushed faces were full of joyful abandon. Jenny and Nigel were an impressive pair, dancing as well as if they were contestants in a dance competition. Jenny's dress had been worth the wait, a pale blush, full-length gown. Adding to the effect, it was crowned with wide ruffles of light blue and pink running across the top of the bodice and dramatically over one shoulder.

"Come on, then," Patrick coaxed, gently tugging her hand.

She shook her head, and hung back.

"Now look, I'll have you know I take my responsibility as your date quite seriously," he said, pointing a finger at her and raising his eyebrows. "I believe it's my duty to ensure not only your full participation but that you have an excellent time."

She laughed shyly at his look of sincerity and he extended his elbow, intending for her to take his arm.

At her hesitancy he quipped, "I'll admit it's been awhile, but I used to have a few moves that might be worth dusting off…"

Finally slipping her hand around his arm, she teased, "Is that so?"

"There's only one way to find out!" he laughed, leading her onto the dance floor. She stood relatively still at first, glancing around nervously as the music swirled around them. He was confident, enthusiastic even, and she found her self consciousness start to melt away, won over by his exuberant, if not exactly ordinary, dancing. Shelagh moved tentatively, certain that everyone was watching her, until Patrick's intent gaze and the touch of his hand encouraged her to join him. She surrendered to it then, lulled into a world where it was just the two of them, connected through the rhythm of the music and their dance.

Several songs later they left the dance floor, exhilarated, but needing to catch their breath. Moving out onto the terrace, they strolled to one end of the narrow courtyard and back, his arm wrapped securely around her waist. After stepping to the railing to gaze out at the city lights, Patrick turned to look at her, leaning against the iron bannister. In the subdued evening glow her face was radiant and her hair shone from the light behind her. He took a step forward to brush a bit of fringe away from her face, his hand coming to rest at her neck. As he leaned in, she closed her eyes, heart racing as she anticipated his kiss...

"What ho, Shelagh!" Chummy almost shouted, bursting onto the terrace. "The event coordinator needs you to sign off on the final-" The tall nurse stopped in her tracks as realisation hit her, the discomfort evident in her expression. "Oh bother, one is always putting a foot wrong..."

"No, no. It's fine, Chummy," Shelagh reassured her embarrassed friend. "I'll just...go and see to what is needed." She looked to Patrick. "I won't be long," she promised, reaching out to touch his arm.

As Shelagh returned to the ballroom, Chummy stared at her shoes and fretted, "Oh, I _am_ sorry, I've behaved positively beastly!"

Patrick quickly schooled his disappointment and persuaded her that wasn't the case. They stood outside for awhile longer, enjoying the fresh air until a cluster of partygoers filed out of the hall, searching for a place to smoke.

"Have you left Peter inside?" he asked. She nodded, and together they left the terrace. The atmosphere in the room had changed somewhat since he had been gone. Although some couples continued to dance together, others had separated into groups. At one table, several young men seemed to be taking part in a drinking contest. At another, a girl was in tears, though she had support from a handful of concerned friends.

Patrick shook his head, feeling his age as they moved further into the hall, at last finding Peter making his way toward them with a pint of mild ale and a half cider.

"Would you like this one, mate?" he smiled, holding out the pint to Patrick, "I can easily go back for another." Chummy took her cider from him, grinning helplessly at his gentility.

"No, thank you," he replied, "I'll get one later." A cheer rose up from the dance floor as a popular song began.

"Bit of a downer at the pitch last week;" Peter said regretfully, "that match went all to pot, eh?"

Patrick groaned and ran a hand over his face, "It certainly did; I blame the life-draining hospital review process."

Peter took a hearty sip of his mild and grimaced, "Alfie's still in a right state about it."

"Are you sure about that?" Patrick chuckled, indicating the dance floor where a cheerful Alfie could be seen dancing with Cynthia to _Love Shack_.

"Ah, well…" Peter sighed happily, meeting Chummy's eyes as the song ended and transitioned into a slower number.

"Go on, then," Patrick encouraged, batting away their apologies. They set their drinks at a nearby table and hurried out onto the floor, finding an open space near Trixie and Charlie.

Moving closer to the edge of the dance floor, he searched the room for Shelagh. Instead he noticed Lynsey hovering close to the music booth, flirting with the DJ. _Better him than me_, he thought with relief. He hoped Shelagh would make it back to him before the song ended. It wasn't to be, however; she tapped him on the shoulder just as the last few bars of the tune were fading away. Still, her sweet smile warmed his heart and, as luck would have it, another slow song was beginning.

"May I?" Patrick held out his hand as The Bangles began to sing.

_Close your eyes, give me your hand, darling._

She blushed, "You may." He drew her into his arms, felt the trembling breath she released as his hand spread out over her back, pulling her closer as she placed her hand in his.

_Do you feel my heart beating?_

Incredibly, he could feel hers.

_Do you understand?_

_Do you feel the same?_

Still holding her hand, he turned his wrist and brought their arms closer, so they rested between them, the sweet fragrance from the roses on her wrist filling his senses. Brushing his thumb over the soft skin of her shoulder, he sang softly in her ear,

_"Am I only dreaming_

_Or is this burning an eternal flame?"_

She leaned back to look up at him, eyes shining. Taking her hand from his, she reached out and gently touched his bottom lip with her fingertips. He closed his eyes, hardly daring to breathe. When he opened them, her face was much closer and he read, in the tilt of her head, her invitation. Unable to wait a moment longer, he bent and pressed his lips against hers, delighting in the way her soft mouth met his. Still swaying slightly to the music, her hand rested on his chest as she leaned into him and he kissed her again, barely increasing the intensity. Just one more, he promised himself, until he felt her tongue brush ever so lightly against his lips and he recklessly broke his own vow. Tenderly, for as far gone as he was he did remember they were on a crowded dance floor, he explored her mouth. She tasted sweet and familiar, yet completely new, and it was with great resolve that he eased them out of the kiss. There would be more later, he was certain. She nestled her head against his chest, just under his chin, and he felt her contented sigh. Holding her much closer now, he ran one hand along her back as his other settled near her hip. Closing his eyes again, he breathed in the scent of her hair, willing the song to last forever.

_I don't want to lose this feeling..._

_Ohhh, an eternal flame._


	8. Chapter 8

_Your Kiss is on My List, Hall & Oates_

After the dance Patrick said goodnight to her on the porch of Nonnatus with a polite kiss before drawing her into his arms. She giggled against his chest, teasing him that this Patrick was in stark contrast to the one with whom she had spent the last hour, the taste of his deliciously steamy kisses still evident on her lips.

He pulled back to look at her, eyebrows lifting as he laughed, "I don't fancy having to explain myself to Sister Evangelina!" Then he traced a finger along her cheek and murmured, "But we can return to the MG if you like..."

Shelagh raised up on her toes and kissed him sweetly. "Next time," she promised. Several moments later, they said their final goodbyes and she peered out from behind the heavy front door, watching him as he walked down the steps, under the arch and around the corner to where he had parked the car.

Slipping off her shoes, Shelagh tiptoed up the stairs and moved silently down the corridor. Just as she reached the safety of her bedroom door she heard a click from the room directly across the hall. Caught, she froze with her hand on the knob.

"You're coming in awfully late, Miss Mannion," Trixie whispered, a little too gleefully.

Trying not to make too much of it, she huffed, lightheartedly, "Oh, it's not that late."

"Hmmm, you're also looking a bit... _disheveled_." Trixie was enjoying herself.

Fortunately the dim hallway hid her guilty flush. Reaching up, Shelagh smoothed her hair and pressed her lips into a serious line, before answering. "Yes, well... good night." Opening the door to her room, she hid a small smile.

"In any case, I'm sure you'll have sweet dreams featuring Dr Patrick Turner," Trixie teased.

The cheeky comment broke Shelagh's resolve and she burst into giggles. Once she caught her breath she agreed, "Oh, I'm quite certain I will!"

That had been almost two months ago, and in that time Shelagh and Patrick had become practically inseparable. In between shifts and classes they enjoyed visits to the cinema and restaurants, walks in the park, and long conversations where they savored learning every new detail about each other. Patrick was invited to join her for one infamously memorable dinner at Nonnatus, where Sister Monica Joan argued with him over the latest recommendations in safe sleep positioning for preterm babies. Changes in protocol were common in medicine but they shouldn't be made lightly, she cautioned.

Not forgetting their responsibilities, they met in the university library to revise, helped each other with hospital paperwork and could even be found folding freshly washed clothes together in the district launderette. As their relationship deepened, Patrick shared more about baby Abbie, her first smiles and favorite toys along with photographs of her early milestones. They spoke briefly about Anne, now remarried and living in Bristol, and the little Patrick knew about her current life through mutual friends.

More letters were exchanged via the notice boards; Shelagh was surprised to receive one which contained an extensive questionnaire: what was her favorite colour, movie, _cheese_? Understanding dawned when Patrick arrived at the end of an afternoon shift with a basket on his arm, a bouquet of hyacinths peeking out of it. Whisking her off to Victoria Park for a late picnic, she beamed as he unpacked a feast of her favorites: sparkling wine, cream crackers and brie, strawberries, and Scottish shortbread.

One evening, as Shelagh prepared for the monthly League meeting, she couldn't help smiling to herself. Feeling truly blessed, her thoughts drifted back to how she and Patrick had spent the day together: a late morning showing of _When Harry Met Sally…_ followed by slices of pizza at the tiny pizzeria on Poplar High Street. In between bites they laughed over their favorite scenes: Did Patrick want his marinara sauce _on the side_? Would Shelagh _have what she's having_? Hiding her giggles, Shelagh hoped Patrick's late shift at the hospital was going smoothly as she made her way into the Nonnatus library for the meeting.

After last month's minutes were approved and the treasurer gave her report, Chummy, the committee chair for philanthropy, began to outline her plans for future fundraising and outreach. Midway through the meeting, Jenny ran to answer the bell, surprised to find two familiar doctors on the doorstep asking for Shelagh.

Walking briskly into the front hall, Shelagh wondered what in the world Patrick was doing at Nonnatus when he knew she had a meeting! She pursed her lips as she approached the door, slightly exasperated, until she saw beyond where Patrick and Alfie stood on the step. Her jaw dropped as she took in the sight… out in the street, twenty-five members of the Medical Student Society, wearing dress shirts and ties, stood formally in the shape of a heart.

Patrick brought her out of her daze by taking her hand and leading her into the centre of the heart, while the nurses, following Jenny's summons, spilled out onto the porch, whispering excitedly.

"What's going on?" wondered Blythe.

"It's a pinning ceremony!" Trixie squealed as quietly as she could. "They're quite rare nowadays; I think I've only known of one other since I've been at university."

"They were more popular in the fifties," Chummy added. "Mater has heaps of anecdotes about her experiences at school. A man gave you his membership badge to show he placed you in importance over his academic or social club."

"Is it kind of like a promise ring?" Cynthia asked, searching for a more modern equivalent.

"Exactly!" Trixie confirmed.

The sisters, who were the last to join the others on the stoop, stepped aside as Lynsey grumbled something unkind and pushed her way back into the house. As for the other nurses, they were busy giggling over the various smartly dressed doctors represented in the heart shaped group below.

"Shelagh has all the luck," Jenny lamented, "Nigel would never think of doing something like this."

Blythe patted her arm in sympathy just as Cynthia implored everyone to quiet down, "Shhh," she whispered, "Something's happening!"

Looking down into the street, they saw Patrick signal the group and the men began to sing,

_Love me tender, love me sweet_

_Never let me go_

_You have made my life complete_

_And I love you so_

Shelagh felt dizzy and blood pounded in her ears, uncomfortable as she was at being the centre of attention and not quite able to believe this was all for her. And yet a nervous excitement flooded her veins at the look of love in Patrick's eyes as he held her hands while he and the men serenaded her.

Sister Julienne wiped tears from her eyes as she watched the joyous moment unfolding in front of her. Sister Monica Joan took her hand, knowing they both were remembering the pain of Shelagh's heartbreak not so long ago. "The Lord is good," she remarked.

"All the time," her younger sister smiled in reply.

Meanwhile, activity on Hendy Street had ceased, as children and motorists stopped to witness the unique event; up on the porch, the nurses oohed and aahed. Trixie nudged Chummy, whispering, "You should go and get your camera."

"Absolutely not," she gasped, "I don't want to miss anything!"

_Love me tender, love me true_

_All my dreams fulfill_

_For my darling I love you_

_And I always will_

As the song ended, Patrick took off his badge and pinned it to Shelagh's jumper, just above her heart. Looking back she would wonder if they exchanged any words. She had been so transported, in an almost dreamlike state.

The bubble was broken by the whistles and cheers of their respective friends. With wide grins, Shelagh and Patrick thanked the few who offered congratulations, but most drifted away - the boys down the street, the nurses and nuns fading back into the house - allowing the two lovers their moment.

Patrick brushed his thumb across her cheek, before leaning down with a soft kiss. "I'm sorry I interrupted your meeting," he breathed.

"I think I'll forgive you," she chuckled, smiling at him in her joy. "Why did Alfie come up to the door with you?"

Patrick laughed, "I was nervous!" She giggled and placed her arms around his neck, drawing his face close to hers. Their mouths grazed against each other, gently at first as they allowed their passion to bloom gradually.

Long moments went by before Patrick pulled away with a whispered promise, "I'll ring you later…" Then, brushing his lips against her forehead, he turned to go.

She watched as he walked beneath the arch, her fingers lightly caressing the emblem he had so recently pinned over her heart. When he had disappeared from her view, she turned and climbed the porch steps as if on a cloud, her radiant smile reflecting the fullness of her joy.


	9. Chapter 9

_Epilogue_

_Our House, Madness_

"Well done, Timothy!" The Turner family cheered as the twelve year old boy ran off of the cricket pitch to join his parents and siblings. Father and son discussed the specifics of the match while Shelagh began to pack up their things, preparing to leave London Fields. As they waved goodbye to the two Noakes families, Peter shouted, "Isn't this how it all started?"

The adults laughed, but Tim rolled his eyes and ran ahead, unwilling to listen to the story of how his parents met _again_. Patrick called after him to come back for his cricket kit, then folded up the picnic blanket and reminded Angela and May that four year old girls were responsible for carrying their own dolls.

While the family filed out of the grounds, Shelagh pushed Teddy in his pram, catching up to Tim just as Patrick was in the middle of retelling their story, "...and Mummy wouldn't even shake my hand!"

"_Mummy!_" May was indignant.

"Well, his hands were covered in sticky motor oil," Shelagh explained in her practical manner.

"Ewwww, Daddy!" Angela understood her mother's plight.

Tim's eyes rolled again, "Parents," he muttered.

Walking home leisurely, in the cool, Sunday evening air, Shelagh's heart ached with the bittersweet joy of a mother watching her firstborn mature out of childhood. As handsome in his cricket whites as his father had once been, her precious Timothy was growing up so fast. Shaking herself into a more sensible line of thinking, she mentally began cataloguing plans for dinner, then thought through the week ahead. "Remember, Patrick, we need to open the surgery early tomorrow for the vaccination clinic."

"I haven't forgotten," her husband pointed out with a grin.

"I've arranged for Trixie to fill in for me until I can get there after nursery drop off. Tim, you'll be fine on your bike?"

"Mmhmm," Timothy replied with his mouth full of granola bar, dodging a reprimanding look from his mother.

Turning onto Bermondsey Lane, Patrick asked, "What's on this road girls?"

"_Our house!_" Anglea chirped, swinging side to side so her pink dress flared out.

"That's correct. And where is it?"

May sang, "_In the middle of our street!_"

Patrick laughed, "Well done, girls!"

"The old songs are the best, Dad," Tim smiled.

"I can't remember," Shelagh mused, "did we dance to that one on our first date?"

"We almost didn't dance at all!" Patrick replied, then continued dramatically, "Girls, would you believe your mummy was almost too shy to dance with me?" Balancing both picnic basket and rug, he displayed some of his best dad dancing moves.

The girls dissolved into giggles, blonde and black ponytails bouncing along with their glee, while Teddy clapped his little hands, delighting in the commotion. Timothy, however, was mortified. "_Dad!_" he hissed. "I'd take another route home if we weren't already on our street!"

"Oh, Patrick, don't embarrass him," Shelagh sympathised.

"It's too late," Tim grumbled.

"Then there's no need to apologise for this," Patrick teased, leaning in to drop a sweet kiss on his wife's surprised lips. She blushed, as she always did when on the receiving end of his attentions, while Tim ran for the front door, the girls close behind him. Patrick winked as he helped her lift Teddy's pram up the steps, "It won't scar him for life," he reassured her, "I promise."

Several hours later, Patrick climbed the stairs after returning a patient's phone call. As he entered the bedroom, Shelagh was propped up against the headboard wearing a light pink camisole and loose pyjama pants in a similar hue printed with small clusters of red roses. "How is Mrs Prescott?" she asked.

"Calmer," he replied. "Most likely suffering from Braxton Hicks, but I've said we'll see her in the morning just to be on the safe side."

"Good," she smiled, patting the spot on the bed next to her.

"What's all this?" he asked, indicating the large book in her lap as he settled himself beside her.

She opened the cover. "Just some memories," she answered sweetly. "I felt like reminiscing after this afternoon's conversation." Pasted on the pages of the scrapbook were the messages and letters he had left for her years ago on the St Camillus notice boards.

He chuckled. "These silly things?"

"They're not silly to me," she sighed contentedly. "You wrote the most beautiful words, Patrick."

He leaned against her and together they leafed through the pages, re-reading the variety of notes: one was a Valentine card; another ended with their names written in a crossword pattern, intersecting at the A; at the bottom of the third page, a post-it contained a short, saucy rhyme.

"Well maybe this one was a wee bit silly," she giggled.

"I'm not sure silly is the appropriate description!" Patrick laughed cheekily as he bent to nip at her shoulder.

She rested her head against his and flipped another page. "I remember this florist's card was tacked up on the board with a single rose, and… Oh dear, here you're apologising for something." She turned to look at him, touching his bottom lip with her finger. "Of course I forgave you," she whispered.

He kissed her fingertip, then took her hand in his own as they turned their attention back to the scrapbook. "Are there any that mention the dance I had to help you ask me to?

Shelagh huffed, "_Help_ me?"

"Surely you remember," Patrick winked. "I had to almost drag it out of you!"

"I'm sorry if I was shy," Shelagh stated primly. "I'd never asked anyone out before!"

"Shy were you?" His voice turned husky, "I believe the amount of time we spent fogging up the windows in the MG would be evidence to the contrary…"

"Patrick!" Shelagh laughed, failing in her attempt to appear offended.

"Speaking of," he mused, "I quite miss the old MG. It was the only place I could have you all to myself." His voice was soft and he drew a finger slowly down the length of her arm.

With a shiver, she whispered, "We don't need it anymore though, do we? We can be all alone right here…" Closing the book, she removed her glasses and leaned toward him.

His laugh was low and seductive. "That is true," he answered, taking the scrapbook from her lap and dropping it lightly to the floor. "And you've never been shy here," he murmured, falling back onto the bed and pulling her on top of him.

Confidently taking his mouth with hers, she proceeded to prove him right.


End file.
